Love Can't Conquer

by Kim Fielding

  “If you’d let me finish,” Jeremy said, stepping nearer. He gently grasped Qay’s upper arms with his big, hot hands. “I don’t see a junkie when I look at you. I see you—Qayin Hill—a fascinating man who’s gotten under my skin faster than I would have thought possible.”

  Some of the thrumming fear within Qay quieted, mostly because he read nothing but sincerity on Jeremy’s face. Well, sincerity and the embers of lust. But Qay couldn’t just let it lie, couldn’t get the rest of the way naked and have fulfilling, amazing sex with this perfect man.

  “You haven’t asked about my HIV status,” Qay said.

  Once again, Jeremy didn’t flinch. “You haven’t asked about mine.”

  “You’re Captain Caffeine. Lethal viruses wouldn’t dare come near you. But I did every fucking thing you’re not supposed to do. Unsafe sex. Dirty needles. For years, Jeremy.” He laughed bitterly. “Did you know that the CDC lists vulnerable populations for exposure to HIV, and I belong in nearly every damned one of them?”

  “Are you healthy, Qay? Are you getting the right treatment?”

  Fuck. If anything, Jeremy moved a little closer as he spoke. He shifted his hands to Qay’s cheeks and stared intently into his eyes.

  “I’m negative,” said Qay, feeling foolish. “I don’t know how the hell that happened, but I am. It’s like God figured out I was trying to kill myself again, and he purposely fucked me over by making me live.”

  Jeremy’s next exhalation was shaky. “So you’re not—”

  “No. I was negative the last few times I got tested, and I haven’t slept with anyone since then. But if I was positive—”

  “I’d be sad. And scared for you. But I’d still do this.” He leaned forward for a long, intimate kiss. “And I’d still beg you to come to bed with me. Now. Please?”

  Qay shivered as Jeremy’s warm hand closed over his. Then he looked him straight in the eye and nodded his assent.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ALMOST SINCE they’d met, Jeremy had considered the possibility—no, the probability—that Qay was HIV-positive, and the idea had scared the crap out of him. Qay didn’t always take the best care of himself, and Jeremy didn’t know what kind of health care he had access to. Qay’s diet was iffy, he tromped around in the rain, and between work and school, he was often stressed and exhausted.

  So when Jeremy learned Qay was negative, he could have sobbed with relief. But crying like a baby was a good way to ruin what was left of the mood, and Jeremy refused to do that. Instead he let Qay, bare-chested, lead the way to the bedroom. He’d made up the bed very precisely, which caused the corners of Jeremy’s mouth to rise. “That looks inviting,” he said.

  Qay blushed. “Hospital corners. One thing you learn when you spend time locked up.”

  Jeremy was about to answer, but then he remembered something. “Don’t move.” He ran into the other room, where his coat hung over the back of the couch, and pulled a small paper bag from the inside pocket. After returning to the bedroom, he dumped the bag onto the bed. A dozen assorted condoms fell out, as did a fairly large bottle of lube.

  Qay stared at the colorful pile, wide-eyed.

  “I don’t think I’m Captain Caffeine, but I’m definitely Mr. Safety,” Jeremy said. And that was true. Even in his two committed relationships, he’d insisted on safer sex. Which turned out to be a wise decision in Donny’s case, at least, considering that he was sleeping around.

  Qay began to laugh, and suddenly he looked years younger. He dug into one of the two mismatched nightstands and came out with a double handful of wrapped rubbers. And he did Jeremy one better—Qay had two bottles of lube. “I went shopping the other day.”

  “Looks like we were both optimistic,” Jeremy said through his own laughter. It felt good to be lighthearted.

  And that was when Qay again surprised him with a kiss, this one ravenous. They didn’t just tangle tongues; Qay also nibbled sharply on Jeremy’s lower lip and dragged his tongue across the late-evening rasp of whiskers. “It’s been a really, really long time,” Qay said shakily, leaning his body against Jeremy’s.

  How long was long? Jeremy didn’t want to know. He decided that tonight he’d make Qay forget—even if temporarily—every unfair thing life had dealt him.

  Jeremy slowly stroked Qay’s back, feeling the chilled skin warm under his touch. Qay warmed too, pressing against Jeremy more firmly and wrapping his arms tightly around his torso. They still wore jeans, but Jeremy felt Qay’s cock hard against his own. When Qay snuffled at the junction of Jeremy’s neck and shoulder, Jeremy suddenly remembered they’d been walking through Forest Park that day. “Do you want me to shower?” he asked.

  “God no! You smell amazing. Like… pine trees and rain and lime juice.” As if to emphasize his point, Qay licked Jeremy’s neck slowly, lingering over the pulse point.

  Fuck. Jeremy wanted more of that, which meant he needed more bare skin. He tried to take off his sweater without losing contact with Qay, but that didn’t work well. They ended up tangled in each other’s arms until Qay chuckled, pulled the sweater over Jeremy’s head, and tossed it aside. Next he tackled the button-down Jeremy wore underneath, but when he saw an undershirt beneath that, Qay clicked his tongue. “How many damn layers do you have? Am I just going to keep undressing you until there’s nothing left? Are you actually teeny-tiny in there, like a matryoshka doll?”

  “Nope. That’s it. On top, anyway.”

  When they were chest to chest, Qay started licking again—neck, collarbone, shoulder. But when he got to a nipple, Jeremy groaned. “I’m… I’m hella sensitive there.”

  Qay looked up at him with delight. “Really? How sensitive?” He punctuated the question with a tender nibble that made Jeremy’s knees wobble.

  Gently, Jeremy pushed Qay’s head away. “Sensitive enough that if you keep it up, this show’s gonna be over quicker than either of us want.”

  “You can come just from this?” Qay gave both nipples a gentle pinch, then cackled gleefully when Jeremy moaned and threw his head backward. “Jesus, you can!”

  Jeremy would have begged at that point, but he wasn’t sure for what. Stop? More? He grunted instead, then quickly popped his fly and pushed his jeans and underwear down to his thighs. He was rewarded when his cockhead bumped against Qay’s flat belly and Qay hissed.

  “Fair enough,” Qay said. He stepped back and stripped off his remaining clothing as Jeremy did the same, and then they simply stared at each other. It was weird. Jeremy knew that good genes and the gym had made him attractive. He’d been called sexy many times and was used to the heated need on a lover’s face. Yet he still felt slightly surprised to be wanted, just as he was sometimes surprised to glance in the mirror and not see a chubby, geeky little boy.

  As a teen, Keith Moore had been rangy—all long limbs and wide shoulders, a boy still waiting to fill out. But although Qay’s shoulders were still broad, he had never really filled out. His body was wiry, with tight muscles and firm pale skin. Even his cock was taut as it jutted from the dark curls at his groin. Despite the badly done tats, the track marks, and his other scars, he was beautiful, making Jeremy’s heart speed and his nerves thrum.

  Talking stopped, at least in any coherent form. They still made plenty of noises, some of which were words—yes, please, God, more, fuck. Most of the condoms and all three bottles of lube ended up on the floor, the neatly arranged bedding quickly became a tangled mess, and their bodies grew heated in the chilly room.

  Qay’s ass felt almost unbearably tight, even after Jeremy took great care to prep him, and his long neck looked so vulnerable as he bent his head back on the pillow and gasped. He dug his heels into Jeremy’s ass, urging him to go deeper and faster. And although the sensation of his cock being welcomed and surrounded was fantastic, other heady sensations bombarded Jeremy. The sight of Qay’s straight dark hair fanned out on the pillow, his hazel eyes focused so intensely on Jeremy’s. Qay’s gasps and moans and whimpers, the slap of skin again
st skin. The odors of sweat, precome, and forest. Jeremy felt his climax build. Qay had been stroking himself in rhythm with Jeremy’s thrusts, and now Jeremy wrapped one of his hands around Qay’s so they grasped Qay’s cock together. The skin of Qay’s belly was smooth and tender—and that bit of softness against his knuckles finally carried Jeremy, shouting, over the edge.

  Qay came just a moment later, growling breathlessly while his hot spend spurted between them.

  Jeremy was reluctant to pull out of Qay’s body, but when he did, he couldn’t do much more than roll onto his back and wheeze. Qay took charge of the cleanup, bringing a plastic wastebasket for the used rubber and then a couple of damp washcloths. He seemed jittery and intent on more chores, so Jeremy caught his hand. “Will you come to bed? I forgot to warn you. I’m a cuddler.”

  “Of course you are,” Qay said with a smile. He turned off the light and would have made it to the bed uneventfully if he hadn’t stepped on the slippery pile of wrapped condoms. Instead, he stumbled, swore, and collapsed onto Jeremy with a thump.

  Jeremy grabbed him tightly, and they laughed as they attempted to arrange the blankets and each other. At last Jeremy had Qay exactly where he wanted him: spooned back against Jeremy and wrapped in Jeremy’s arms.

  “You smell good too,” Jeremy said after burying his nose in Qay’s hair.

  “One thing I like about the window factory is that it’s not stinky. I worked at a poultry processor for a while. God, it took months to get the reek off me. The only thing worse than that was my stint at a recycling plant.”

  “Well, now you smell like sex. And Thai food. Which make an oddly appealing combination.”

  Qay chuckled and adjusted his body slightly, resting more firmly against the warmth behind him. Jeremy wasn’t a kid with a superhero refractory time, but Qay’s firm round ass against his cock was nearly enough to get Jeremy going again. Maybe later. After a nap. He yawned loudly.

  Qay yawned as well; then he laughed. “We’re very exciting.”

  “Don’t want exciting,” Jeremy murmured into Qay’s tender nape. “I want this.” Because the sex had been wonderful, but holding Qay close was even better.

  Qay made a throaty noise that might have been either agreement or skepticism.

  Despite being warm and postorgasmic, Qay was still tense, his muscles coiled as if he might spring from bed any second. Yet he also leaned back into Jeremy’s embrace as if he would never leave.

  And that was how it must always be for Qay, Jeremy realized with a start: eager for stability, comfort, and affection, yet worried that none of those things were real or lasting. Well, Jeremy would just have to do his best to encourage the positive emotions and chase away the fears.

  “I’m glad we waited,” Qay said sleepily. “Was worth it.”

  “Amen.”

  Jeremy slowly rubbed his hand along Qay’s arm and lean flank, across his chest, over his thin, soft belly. Qay melted a bit more, his breathing evening out. Jeremy thought he’d fallen asleep, but then Qay spoke. “Did you know about the Diegleman place?”

  The question was such a non sequitur that at first it made no sense, but then the name resurrected an ancient memory. “In Bailey Springs, you mean?”

  Jeremy felt Qay’s nod.

  “It was supposed to be haunted,” Jeremy said.

  “It wasn’t. It was just a run-down farmhouse. Abandoned years before we were born, I think.”

  Jeremy frowned as he tried to remember details. “I just remember a field.”

  “Yeah, they tore the house down after….” Qay swallowed loudly. “Teenagers used to go there to get high or to fuck, but that was when we were little. When I was eight, nine years old, I spent a lot of time there, just sort of poking around. I think that farm dated back to homestead days. I’d find all kinds of interesting shit there—old tins and bottles and stuff. Once I found a bunch of coins that had been buried in a coffee can.”

  Qay fell silent, which gave Jeremy the opportunity to imagine a very young Keith Moore, skinny and dark-haired, poking around the dirt and weeds in search of treasure. The image made him smile, yet it also thickened his throat, because at eight or nine, shouldn’t Keith have been running around with other kids?

  “A lot of the time, I’d just bring a book to the Diegleman place and read, or sometimes I’d draw in a sketchpad. The older kids didn’t come until night, so I had it to myself during the day. It was… peaceful. Did you have a spot like that?”

  “My room. On weekends and vacations, I’d spend all day in there. Just come out for meals.” His mother never minded; in fact, she’d always seemed relieved that Jeremy entertained himself so easily. When his father got home from work, he’d sometimes yell at Jeremy to get his lazy butt outside for a change. But neither of his parents ever raised a hand to him. He didn’t have to go somewhere else just to feel safe.

  Qay nodded again and shivered. Jeremy sensed the cold wasn’t to blame, and he held him tighter. “I wasn’t supposed to go there,” Qay said. “It was less than a mile from home if you walked along the railroad tracks, but my parents put it off-limits. Dangerous, they said. I don’t know why—they weren’t big on explaining reasons behind the rules. I ignored them. I went all the time. I used to dream that when I grew up, I’d buy the Diegleman place, fix up the house, and live there. I even imagined what colors I’d paint the walls, how many dogs I’d have and what breeds… all that crap.”

  He sounded so young and wistful. All Jeremy could do was hold him.

  Then Qay shook again—a shudder instead of a shiver. “It was August and I was twelve. It was a miserably hot day. Remember the kind? The air so thick and heavy it weighs you down. If I was a smart kid, I’d have stayed in my house with the air-conditioning. But it was Saturday and my father…. That kind of weather always put him in a bad mood. Fuck, everything put him in a bad mood. So I went to Diegleman’s and sweated while I read. By late afternoon I saw thunderclouds piling up to the west, but I didn’t worry about them. I guess I figured I’d be fine in that old house. If worse came to worst, there was a storm cellar, but it was so full of spiders I don’t know if I’d ever have braved it.”

  Jeremy remembered watching those Kansas storms roll in. The sky to the west would get darker and darker with angry purple clouds, but he’d still be safe in the sunshine for a while. Then the temperature would drop and everything would go eerily silent as the sky took on a green tinge. When the clouds finally reached him, blotting out the light, he’d be thankful for a strong roof over his head. Although those storms could be scary, they were also exhilarating—lightning bursting overhead like fireworks and thunder shaking the marrow of his bones.

  Jesus. Even in the darkness of a Portland basement apartment, he could see storm clouds rushing in. Still, he prompted Qay with a question. “So you stayed at the farm that day?”

  “Yeah.” The answer came out as a sigh. “I did. My parents heard the weather forecast and sent my brother to fetch me. He never went to Diegleman’s because it was against the rules. Kevin obeyed all the rules.”

  His brother. Oh, shit. Another dusty memory reared its head and glared at Jeremy. There had been two Moore boys, hadn’t there? And a family tragedy.

  “Kevin’s fourteenth birthday had been just a few weeks earlier. Our parents got him a Walkman. Remember those things? Nobody else in Bailey Springs had one yet—hell, Kev might’ve had one of the first ones in Kansas. He thought he was such hot shit. He wore it all the fucking time.”

  Another pause, another shudder that devolved into muscle twitches, which Jeremy tried to smooth away. But just when he thought Qay would never finish the story, Qay took a deep breath. “There were two ways to get to Diegleman’s from our house. If you stuck to streets and roads, it was longer than if you walked the tracks. And Kev was in a hurry to get me because those clouds were coming in fast. He could’ve walked alongside the tracks, but in August the weeds were tall. It was easier to walk the rails. So that’s what Kev did.”


  Oh. Oh fuck.

  “Qay—”

  “He never even heard the train. Didn’t feel it coming either. The engineer said Kev never so much as turned to look behind him. I guess he was too into his music.”

  Jeremy knew Bailey Springs, so the image was clear in his head: a teenager trotting along the railroad ties, bopping his head to Bruce Springsteen or Bob Seger. Behind him, the yellow locomotive just finishing the curve and the engineer blowing the horn in vain.

  Just as Jeremy was pushing that vision away, a realization struck him. “Qayin. Cain. Shit, Qay. You didn’t kill your brother.” He was surprised by the shakiness in his own voice.

  “That’s what the shrinks told me too. But Kevin died because of me. I know it. My parents sure as hell knew it.”

  “Your parents—”

  “Before Kev died, Dad had a hair-trigger temper, especially when he drank. But he only drank on weekends. And the worst he’d do was backhand me. Mom was usually there for me when he lost it, though. She didn’t try to stop him from hitting me, but afterward she’d give me an ice pack, maybe get me a bowl of ice cream. After Kev died, though…. After he died, Dad drank every night. He hit harder too.” Qay barked a humorless laugh. “Good thing he was a doctor, because he could patch me up if it was worse than bruises.”

  Jeremy couldn’t remember if he’d known Keith then, but he’d seen Dr. Moore around town. His grandmother was one of Dr. Moore’s patients. One time, Jeremy accompanied her to an appointment, and when Dr. Moore spied Jeremy in the waiting room, he’d given him a lollipop. Jesus, why hadn’t Jeremy realized what a twisted fuck the man was? Qay had nobody to tell about the abuse, but Jeremy could have—

  “Mom changed too,” Qay said, interrupting Jeremy’s thoughts. “Kev’s death broke her. She still kept up with all her clubs and things, but only because Dad kept her drugged to the gills. At home when she saw me, she’d just turn away.”

  Because he needed to, Jeremy repeated what he’d said before. “You didn’t kill your brother.”