by Jeff Mann
“Yeah! Wudn’t that a fucking thrill?”
“It was, but…. So, that asshole was right about your parole? They can send you back to prison?”
“Yep.” Lucas frowned, hammering up the last sign. “‘Fraid so. I’ll be on parole for a little while yet. If I violate it, it’s back to being some convict’s boy-toy.”
“Well, we sure as shit don’t want to do anything that might risk that.”
“You’re telling me,” Lucas muttered, slipping the hammer into a loop on the side of his workpants. “Only guy whose boy-toy I hope to be any time soon is a famous country star.” He winked at Brice. “I dream of becoming a star fucker. Or star fuckee.”
“Fuckee, I hope.” Brice licked his lips. “A prospect I’m eagerly awaiting.”
“Me too. Okay, this job’s done. If these signs don’t keep ‘em off, Phil says we can put up a gate. You want to work off some of that big brunch and help me split wood? After the snows we’ve had lately, we’re running a little low.”
“Sure, kid. Got a question first.”
“Yep?”
“Sleeping with you last night was probably the sweetest thing that’s happened to me in months. Well, okay, years. Could we…do that again?”
Lucas gave Brice a soft punch in the shoulder. “Greedy Daddy! Hell, yes. I’m thinking every night.”
“Sounds like heaven, but…Lucas, I gotta be honest. It’s gonna be hell too. I want so much more with you.”
“I know. I want it too, I swear.”
“Good. Good. Look, I’ve had a ferocious sex drive since I was fourteen. It’s gonna get hard to behave, as you put it. To control myself.”
Lucas nodded. “I get it. I honestly don’t know when I’ll be ready for more. Could be tonight, could be tomorrow, could be next week, could be next month. I don’t wanna be a cock-tease. Would it be better if we slept apart?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Then let’s take it as it comes, okay? Let’s just stay honest with each other. You asking me if doing something is all right with me before you do it makes all the difference.”
“Good to hear. I promise to keep doing that, rather than lunging, which is my usual erotic modus operandi.”
“Yeah, no lunging yet, mad dawg.” Lucas patted Brice on the back. “Let’s get to that wood.”
TWO HOURS WENT BY, THE weak February sun over Brantley Valley moving in and out of scudding clouds, as Lucas split chestnut oak and Brice stacked it. The grace with which Lucas handled the axe, the way his strong shoulders and slender hips shifted, caused Brice to pause often in his labors just to soak up the sight.
Youth and beauty in action, Brice thought. And I’m the blessed witness. Tonight—what a miracle!—I’ll hold him in my arms again. Is this my reward for suffering so much shit in the last six months? Hell, to hold him, I’d endure fifty times as much. Look at that sweet little butt. Look at that boy move.
They were taking a break in the kitchen—gulping down water, then sampling some mulled cider Lucas had heated up—when a loud series of knocks resounded on the door of the great room upstairs.
“Son of a bitch. That better not be….” Lucas growled.
Lucas took the steps two at a time. By the time Brice joined him, Lucas had the door thrown open and was shouting at a new intruder. On the porch stood the Ichabod Crane lookalike that Amie had described as appearing at Radclyffe’s Roost. He seemed very familiar to Brice.
“Get outta here!”
“Mr. Bryan, I assume? Look, all I want is a story. I’ve got to do my job. Mr. Brown, hello! I’m Larry Johnson from Country Weekly. I’ve done several articles about you before, including a couple of interviews. Remember?”
Brice paused, recalling his past experiences with Johnson. The man had been polite and understanding, with a sense of humor Brice had enjoyed. At Brice’s request, the man had even deep-sixed an article about Brice’s separation from Shelly, though the Star had run with its own article instead.
“Larry, yeah. Sure, I remember you.”
“Good! Won’t you please talk to me?”
“Naw, not now. Naw.”
“Fuck this. I’m calling the cops,” Lucas said.
“Hold on, Lucas,” Brice said. “No need for that, I think.”
“No need, indeed. I’m just about to leave. But let me ask you this first, Brice. Hasn’t there been enough scandal? Hasn’t enough been taken from you? Here you are, hiding way up this remote valley like some sort of outlaw. Isn’t it time you told us all your side of the story? Don’t you want an opportunity to tell your version of the truth?”
Brice shook his head and jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I’m not ready to do that. Not yet. Right now I just want to be left alone.”
“I understand that. But—”
Brice sighed. “Ain’t I old news by now? That damned article outing me was back in November. It’s nearly March.”
“You’re about to be fresh news again. My colleague at the Star got some photos he plans to do a lot with.”
“Well, shit. I was afraid of that. Look, Larry, you have a card? If I change my mind, I’ll give you a call.”
“Promise?” With a hopeful smile, Johnson pulled a business card from his jacket pocket and handed it to Brice.
“Yep. If you promise to leave me alone. And keep those other bastards away from here while you’re at it.”
“I can promise the first. I can’t promise the second. Some of my journalistic colleagues are—”
“Horse’s asses?” Lucas said. “Pit bulls? Rattlesnakes?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Brice, can you answer just one question?”
Brice shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on the question.”
“Have you retired from country music?”
Brice hesitated. “I-I don’t—”
Lucas stepped forward, his face only a foot from Johnson’s. “Hell, no, he ain’t retired! He’s got more songs in him than a field of July corn has kernels. Just wait. Just you wait. This man has a glorious future. His comeback is gonna be like nothing nobody’s ever seen before. It’s gonna be like a goddamn supernova!”
“I hope so.” Johnson stepped back in the face of Lucas’s loud onslaught. “I hope so, truly. Brice has amazing talent. Good luck to both of you. Brice, I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Johnson offered his hand. Brice hesitated, then shook it. Soon, the journalist’s tan SUV had disappeared out the front gate. The sound of it descending the valley diminished and died, leaving only the sough of rising wind in the woods.
“Storm’s a-comin’.” Lucas nudged Brice inside, then closed the door and locked it. “You shoulda told that guy to get screwed.”
“He was pretty considerate in the past. Who knows? Maybe one of these days, I might be willing to give him that interview.”
Lucas frowned. “Don’t seem too wise to me. Who knows how they’d twist your words? Look, I need to split more wood. Since I cain’t split heads.”
“Sure. Lead the way. I could work off some anxiety too.”
IN THE WOODYARD BEHIND THE lodge, Lucas made an axe-slit in the top of a big cross-section of oak, then set in a wedge and fetched a maul. Hands sliding expertly along the handle, he brought the maul down once, then twice, with resounding metallic clangs.
The round of wood creaked and cracked. On the third blow, it began to divide. Another three blows upon the wedge, and the cross-section split cleanly in half. Lucas wedge-split the halves into quarters before taking up his axe again. Soon he’d made stove-lengths of one quarter.
“Damn, you’re good at that.”
“Practice. Daddy was better.” The boy took off his ball cap, looked up at the sky, and wiped his cheek. “Fixing to rain. I’ll get all this covered with a tarp before it gets wet, if you’ll stack all that there in the shed.”
Brice complied. By the time they were done with their respective chores, Brice’s back was panging him and a soft rain had begun. For a long moment,
they stood under the eaves by the back door, watching the woodyard’s dove-gray and beige hues darken to slate-gray and burnt sienna.
Lucas wrapped an arm around Brice’s waist and rested his cheek on Brice’s shoulder. “So pretty soon my picture’s gonna be on the cover of some scandal sheet?”
“I’m afraid so. Those guys at the Star have no concept of personal privacy.”
“Shit. The good folks around here are gonna love that. As if I don’t have enough of a bad reputation. Well, we’ve both been through worse, right?”
“Yes. You…a lot worse.”
“True. Screw ‘em. Never wanted to be famous, but here it comes, huh?”
Brice bent to kiss Lucas on the brow. “Yep. You and me, together in infamy.”
“Together sounds good. Infamy, who cares? I think it’s time for a long shower and a few stiff drinks by the fire.”
“Sounds great.” Brice was tempted to ask if they could shower together but feared the suggestion might be regarded as unduly lecherous.
Inside, they shucked off their jackets and ball caps. “Will you play your guitar for me later?” Lucas asked. “Or the piano? It’d relax me. As pissed off as I am by our series of uninvited visitors today, I could do with some relaxing.”
“Sure. I’ve actually been fooling with a new song. I have the melody, but I don’t have any of the words yet.”
“New music? And I thought you said that music was done with you.”
“Yeah, well. I guess you were right about gifts not disappearing entirely. The new music’s thanks to you, by the way.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“Well, the music’s inspired by you. By my feelings for you.”
“Really?” Lucas face gleamed.
“Yeah. You’re my new muse, kid.”
“Wow. Talk about flattering. I’ve got to hear this music later. As for now, time for that shower.”
“Yeah, sure.” Brice moved to the bar. “Enjoy. What you want to drink afterwards?”
“Drinks later. Shower now. You coming?”
Brice froze, afraid to hope. “You mean together? Take a shower together?”
“Yep, I mean together.”
“Naked? Both of us?”
“Naw, in fucking evening gowns. Yes, naked. Least I can do is to share a shower with the man who defended what little’s left of my honor. I loved how you bolted out onto the porch when that motherfucker was making fun of me, calling me a truck-stop cocksucker. That meant a lot.”
“I wasn’t gonna let that slime-ball insult you.” Brice draped an arm over Lucas’s shoulders. “Lead the way. First shower together it is.”
They were heading downstairs to the grotto when the phone rang. “Amie again?” Lucas said. “More asshole journalists down at the store? Uncle Phil?”
“Or my sister. I gave her this number when I told her that we’re too remote up here to get cellphone service.”
Lucas snatched up the phone. “Hello?”
Brice’s stomach sank, watching Lucas’s brows bunch up and his pretty lips curl into a snarl.
“How the hell did you get this number? How? Fuck, no, you can’t talk to Brice Brown. Get fucked. Get fucked! You call here again, and I’ll track you down. I’ll tie your testicles into a bowtie and hang the itty-bitty thangs around your neck and then feed the whole goddamn pathetic packet to the pigs. Get fucked!”
Lucas slammed the phone back into the cradle. Even in the dim light of late afternoon, Brice could see his small hands shaking.
“More of ‘em. Damn it. We’re gonna have to change the number.” Bending, Lucas unplugged the phone. “How could they have gotten this number?”
Brice rubbed at his tight temples. His lower back smarted. “I don’t know. I gave it to my sister. That’s it. I didn’t give it to the record company. Wait, I gave it to my manager too. My ex-manager. Oh, no. Surely Steve didn’t sell it to the bastards? Maybe that bitch of a secretary came upon it in his messages or papers? Shit, I don’t know.”
“Harm’s done. We’ll fix it. Later tonight, I’ll e-mail a note to Phil. C’mon. Now I need a shower more than ever. After dealing with those shitheads today, I’m feeling dirty.”
Downstairs in the grotto, the two men began to undress. Brice pulled his upper garments off, then sat back on the bench to savor the sight of Lucas slowly stripping.
“You could make a living at this,” Brice said, grinning up at the boy. “Head to some big city, gyrate on top of some bar, make some big money.”
“I don’t dance well enough for that,” Lucas said, dropping his jeans and then hanging them on a wall hook. For a moment, he simply stood there, hands on his hips, wearing nothing but his customary neck-chains and a small pair of crotch-bulge black briefs, looking Brice in the eye. Brice could detect pride in his features, pride in his young body, and amusement, and just the smallest trace of hesitant nervousness and shame. Just when Brice began to fear that Lucas would draw the line and demur, the boy turned to the side and slipped off his briefs.
“Oh, Lucas,” Brice groaned. “You’re just glorious.”
Lucas bowed his head. “It turns me on when you watch me,” he whispered. He turned to Brice, displaying a large, erect cock standing up in a thicket of ruddy pubic hair. “Go on and get naked, Daddy.”
Brice stared, absorbing every detail: the small nipples, the rusty body hair, the shapely lyre of Lucas’s hips and lower abdomen, the impressive prick.
“Damn, Lucas. You’re just….”
“Go on now. I wanna see you naked too.”
Brice shook himself from his erotic trance. He bent over with a jolt to unlace his boots. When he did so, a savage pain stabbed him in the lumbar, one greater and more pervasive than any he’d ever felt.
“Oh! Damn!” Brice slipped off the bench and fell to his knees. Another wave of pain hit him, and with a choked shout, he fell forward onto the floor. Tears sprang to his eyes.
“Fuck!” he gasped. “Oh, damn.”
“Brice!” Lucas was beside him in a second. “What is it?”
“My back. Oh, man. Hurts worse than it ever has. Oh, oh, man.”
“Oh, Brice.” Lucas grabbed his hand. “Poor guy. What can I do?”
“Just…. I….”
“What? Tell me!”
“Just…. Let me lie here for a while. Oh, damn.”
“Okay. Okay. Here, let me….”
Lucas slipped astride Brice’s waist. Brice could feel Lucas’s genitals resting against him but was in no shape to savor that fact. He squinted his eyes shut as another spasm shook him. “Uhhhh!”
“Easy.” Lucas pushed his thumbs into Brice’s lower back and commenced a firm kneading. “How does that feel?”
“Good. Good. A little better. Ah, damn….”
“Relax, buddy. Just relax.” Lucas concentrated on the troublesome sacroiliac joint, massaging Brice for long minutes, the room silent save for the older man’s grunts and whimpers.
“Okay.” Lucas climbed off Brice. “Can you get up? We should get you to bed.”
Brice tried. He winced violently, slumping back onto the floor. Get up, damn you, he upbraided himself. You get this delicious young guy naked at last, and your geezer back goes out? Pathetic! Idiot! Moron! Get up, you miserable old wreck.
Brice tried again. This time, gulping back a sob, he managed to make it to his hands and knees. He swayed there, trembling with agony, gritting his teeth. “Ohhhhh, man. Oh, man, it hurts.”
Lucas offered Brice a hand. “Damn, you’re really bad off. I think we should get you into the hot tub. The warm water will help your back. Let’s get those clothes off, okay?”
“O-okay.” When Brice took Lucas’s hand and attempted to stand, another flare of pain paralyzed him. “Uhhhh! Naw. N-naw.”
“Okay, buddy. Hold on.”
Lucas hurried over to the hot tub controls and fumbled with them. “Okay, bubbles on. It’s gonna get good and hot soon. Lemme get those boots and pants off you.”
For long moments, Lucas fumbled with bootlaces, boots, socks, jeans, and boxer briefs, stripping Brice with care and patience as the older man mumbled, winced, and cussed.
“Not exactly the scene I had in mind, you stripping me all slow and seductive.”
“Best laid schemes of mousies and men, right? Get in there and lean back against the water pulse. Let it massage you, okay?”
“Yeah.” Wincing, Brice crept across the floor. Crawling like a fucking cockroach, he thought. Like a frigging centipede. Like a feeble cripple. So much for being a big, butch Daddy about to bed a hot young stud. With Lucas’s help, he clambered down into the tub, propped himself on the submerged seat, and closed his eyes. The hot water brought, almost instantly, some modicum of relief.
“How’s that feel?” Lucas squeezed Brice’s bare shoulder.
“Uhhhhhhhhh. Good. Good. Lucas?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Would you…? In my cabin. In my backpack. Bottle of pills. For this kinda pain. Would you fetch ‘em? Them, and a glass of water? Please? Please?”
“Oh, sure. Oh, sure.”
Lucas leapt up. In another minute, he’d pulled on his pants, stuffed his feet into unlaced work boots, and rushed off, still shirtless, into the rainy night.
DROWSY ON MEDICATION AND TWO BIG GLASSES of Irish whiskey, Brice lay beneath the covers of Lucas’s bed. The pain had subsided somewhat, but it still hurt even to roll over.
It had taken Lucas a long time to help Brice get dressed. It had taken even longer to help him out of the lodge and up the drizzle-wet hill to Lucas’s cabin. “I’m walking like an old man over ice,” Brice had snarled, taking small, wincing step by small, wincing step. He’d napped away the remainder of the rainy afternoon. Now, nightfall descended on Brantley Valley and the sky had cleared. It filled the bedroom window with velvety petunia-purple, centered by the glistening white pinprick of the evening star.
“Hey.” Lucas entered the room with a tray of food. “Are you hungry?”
Brice rubbed sleep from his face. “I am. What you got there?”
“Two mugs of Amie’s potato soup. And sausage biscuits.” Lucas placed the tray on the dresser. “And beers. That Yuengling stuff.”