by Laurie Loft
“Your dimple is back!”
Up early as usual, Sebby had been startled at Todd’s sudden appearance in the bathroom. He had jumped and yelped before breaking into peals of laughter that brought out his dimple.
In Todd’s eyes was such tenderness as he cupped the side of Sebby’s face, that Sebby felt the frozen ball in his chest soften. He could breathe again, breaths that quickened as Todd pressed a kiss there, poked his tongue into the little depression that had, till this morning, been buried under swelling and bruises.
“I missed you,” Todd murmured to the dimple, his lips warm against Sebby’s face, and the icy chunk, made of fear and anger and helplessness, melted and dribbled away.
Warmed through and through, Sebby sighed in contentment. “Oh, I want you here. When are you moving in, already?”
Todd clucked. “Not much to move in, cielito lindo. Your home is suitably furnished without crowding my things into it.”
“But you have to have things here. You have to make it your home.”
“I’ve the things I want and need most: my books, my music, some clothing, and you.”
“If you don’t move things in, it feels temporary. Please, Todd.” Todd stirred restlessly, and Sebby was afraid, afraid that temporary was how Todd wanted it. Sebby drew back. “If you’re not ready, then you’re not. I love you either way, here or there. But be honest.”
Todd fidgeted, and his mouth worked. The corners of his eyes crinkled into worry lines. “I’m damaged goods, and you’ve already said I expect too much, and I’ve things in my life, things I need to work on, and so I attend, I need to attend, Al-Anon meetings. In fact I’d pledged to attend regularly, and by regularly I mean twice weekly, but with everything that’s been happening . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Querido, we’re all damaged goods. Are you an alcoholic, a reformed one, I mean? You said your mother is. You didn’t say you were.”
Todd’s eyes turned to the ceiling. “You’re thinking of Alcoholics Anonymous. Al-Anon is a sort of adjunct group, a support group for friends and families of alcoholics. Many of the unhealthy behaviors of an alcoholic are adopted by those around him. Thus, we all have recovery to recover.”
Sebby nodded, though he felt confused and impatient. “So you don’t want to move your things in because—what?”
“Because . . . er . . . I wasn’t sure you would want me. If you knew everything.”
¡Dios! Did Todd think it was so shocking or shameful? Grasping Todd’s shoulders, he locked eyes with him. “I want you. With all your dark corners and things I might not know.” He felt Todd relax a little and gave him a quick kiss. “You never know everything about someone else. A relationship means always finding new things.” He frowned. “Should I come with you to these meetings?”
There was a stunned silence. “No one has ever asked me that before.”
There was a flurry of snow, the day they drove to the block of garages where Todd’s things were stored, though it was too warm in mid-October for anything to stick. Down one long row and up another, they meandered till they reached the correct number, parked, and hopped out. With a rattle and bang, the garage door went up. Sebby grabbed Todd in mock horror. “Do you have someone’s head in here?”
“Yes, and now I’ve brought another to keep it company.” He put his finger to Sebby’s neck in imitation of a knife, flicked on the light, and pushed him through to the dim interior. The garage was Lloyd’s and was half full of castoffs. Todd’s items occupied the front half. Box springs and mattress were upended against the wall near a bookcase, sofa, desk, and standing lamp. Boxes were piled haphazardly, many of them having been opened and ransacked. “I never had the money to spend on, well, decorating,” Todd explained. “When I was just an intern, I barely made enough money to live, and for months I saved to move to New York. Even when I had a real job, I was, ah, saving to buy, ah, Viv’s ring.” He cleared his throat.
“It’s all right. What about your boxes, though? There must be things you want.”
“Indeed, there are, though not many. I have linens, but none so nice as yours. They can stay. Dishes, well, same scenario. Some framed photos. More books, if you can spare the space.”
Sebby helped Todd go through the boxes methodically, repacking their contents and stacking them. They removed their jackets as the work warmed them. Some boxes made the cut and were placed in the truck, while others were doomed to remain, for now, in dusty darkness. Two lonely cartons had been pushed beneath the desk, and Sebby squatted to drag them out, noting that they were still taped shut.
“No, no, love, leave those,” Todd admonished, taking Sebby into his arms and drawing him away.
“Whyyy, what’s in them? Chopped-off heads?” Sebby teased, but Todd just kissed him. Vivian souvenirs, Sebby assumed, and he was glad not to have to sort through it.
“Fini.” Todd took a last look around. “Oh . . . I left my keys there. Grab them?” He gestured at a stack of boxes and turned away.
Sebby moved to get the keys, tsking at Todd’s absentmindedness. The light went out. The garage door banged down behind him, and Sebby made a jump-turn in the sudden darkness.
“Shit,” Todd said. The gray shape of him outlined itself as Sebby’s eyes began to adjust.
“Shit what? What shit?” Sebby squeaked.
“The door . . . Ah . . . I think we might be locked in.” The gray shape ducked, and there was a disturbingly loud clanking as the door was rattled.
Sebby put his hands over his ears until it stopped.
“Nada,” Todd said, and he stood, a silhouette against glowing cracks of daylight. The shape moved toward Sebby. “You’ve arrived at your mausoleum, mon cher. You’ve had that feeling . . . that chill . . . when someone has walked across your grave? That was I, pacing amongst these relics.” He advanced a step.
“You’re teasing. I know you’re teasing. The door isn’t really locked. Is it?” Sebby’s voice was an octave too high. Despite himself, he scurried backward, using little mouse steps to avoid tripping in the darkish, confined place. He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket. Reassuring light spilled out as he tapped it.
“That will not help you,” Todd purred as he crept forward. “There is no signal, nor no hope, here in the sepulcher.”
The phone showed one bar, but before Sebby could unlock it, Todd’s hand closed over Sebby’s wrist; the other hand plucked the phone from his grip. Sebby squawked. Todd shoved. Over they went, and Sebby landed on the sofa. Blood pounded in his ears, and with Todd atop him, he couldn’t catch his breath. “Todd! W-w-wait. Wait!” He squirmed, but Todd was a dead weight, pinning him. The sofa smelled like old corn chips.
“Death waits for no man.” Todd nipped gently under Sebby’s jaw.
Sebby struggled, and his ass sank down between the sofa cushions. He cried out. Todd’s hand clamped over Sebby’s mouth, either because he feared they would be heard, or as part of the game. If it was a game.
“Such a lovely head. I’ll cherish it. Shhh.” Todd let go of Sebby’s mouth and began fingering Sebby’s shirt buttons. He’ll take my shirt in his hands and just tear it right off my body, pop the buttons. In his head, Sebby could hear the pops as the buttons flew, the pings as they landed on the concrete floor; they would roll away, and mice would carry them off. But, because he was Todd, he carefully undid each button, nibbling his way down the exposed flesh of Sebby’s chest. “You wonder what is in the sealed boxes, do you not?” Todd’s voice went on, melodic against Sebby’s navel. “Soon enough, you’ll see. Curiosity killed le chat.”
Sebby pummeled Todd’s back. He screamed a little; he couldn’t help it. He wrapped his legs around Todd to pull him closer; he couldn’t help that either. “Please . . . please?”
“There’s no one to hear you.” His hands worked at Sebby’s jeans, undoing them, inching them down.
How long could Todd keep this up? “Let me go. I’ll, I’ll—” Thoughts evaporated as Todd’s mouth found his cock. “¡
Dios! No! Oh!” He hardly knew what he said, if he said anything.
But Todd was cruel. He was going to torture Sebby for real, and he lifted his head too soon, sitting up and pulling Sebby roughly into his lap, back-to-front, calloused hands coarse against Sebby’s waist. There was the sound of Todd’s zipper. Sebby moaned; Todd’s erection prodded at his ass. Sebby swallowed and his voice quavered. “Wait, wait, Todd, really, wait. Do you have a— Do you have a . . .”
“Absurd boy.” Todd nestled Sebby in his lap and nibbled at the nape of his neck. “In an hour, this exquisite head”—and he ran his hands down the sides of Sebby’s head, smoothing his hair flat to his scalp—“will join the others. You are freed from worry over such mundane things as disease.” He yanked at one sleeve of Sebby’s shirt and then the other, and the shirt was tossed aside; the air stirred as his shirt floated away, and he shivered at the chill on his skin, at Todd’s buttons digging into his back. There was a slight sound, like the unwrapping of a condom, and Sebby relaxed slightly.
It was cold—Todd’s fingers so slick and so cold pressing inside as if to find his vitals—that Sebby gasped and shuddered, and Todd didn’t wait as he usually did. He pushed in immediately, and it was like that other time, that time that Sebby would remember if he could think, when Todd had been so insistent, so unyielding. But, no, it wasn’t like that other time—then, Todd had been desperate, hurting, and this time he was cold, distant, and completely in control, which only made Sebby feel more out of control. It hurt some, but it was good, the tightness, the fullness, and drawing deep breaths, he pushed back as Todd pushed in.
Todd wrapped him up, pinning Sebby’s arms to his sides. The coldness gave way to slippery heat. They rocked, the metal teeth of Todd’s fly scraping Sebby’s flesh, and Sebby ached, oh, how he ached. He went limp, letting his head loll back against Todd’s shoulder. Todd’s hand swept upward to stroke Sebby’s exposed throat, up one side, over his face and lips, down the other side, across his Adam’s apple to cup his jaw. His thumb pressed into the jump of his pulse, pushing his head back to where he could lay his mouth to Sebby’s neck. Sebby’s words came thinly from his stretched throat: “Dios, Todd, I’m so close, please? So close . . .”
He arched against Todd’s restraining arm. Had he spoken in Spanish or English? Could Todd understand? He must have gotten the general idea, because his hand on Sebby’s waist moved, the fingers fluttering over Sebby’s aching cock, and even that light touch made him lurch and cry out.
Todd chuckled in his ear. “Do you wish it over so soon? With it ends your life. I had thought to prolong it as well as I could.”
“No! Oh, Todd, now, oh now, I can’t. Please?” He moved encouragingly, but Todd clamped down, and Sebby whimpered in frustration. “Please!” he repeated, and then, playing along with Todd’s game, because maybe that would make him hurry the fuck up—“I don’t want to die!” It was a pitiful, whimpering cry. He didn’t care if Todd did kill him, as long as he could come first.
“It will be worth it.” Todd reached then to take Sebby in hand and—first with long, slow strokes that made Sebby feel as if his cock were lengthening impossibly, and then with short, quick strokes that nearly hummed, and finally with a murmur in his ear: “Die now”—brought him off, and it was like dying, a sliding, sliding away, blossoming and wilting, the Little Death.
As awareness seeped back in, he realized Todd was penetrating him again—again, how could that be? When had Todd pulled out? Breaking character at last, Todd was saying his name, telling him how he loved him, how he could never hurt him. Brainless and boneless, Sebby tried to reciprocate, to move with Todd’s thrusts, to be anything other than a jellyfish, but it hardly mattered. Todd came quickly and loudly, and then held Sebby hard against himself as shudders shook him. Moments went by, and then, pulling Sebby with him, he collapsed to lie down on the sofa. The two of them released joint sighs as they settled. Todd’s hands moved lazily over Sebby’s stomach. Sebby pillowed his head on Todd’s chest, willing to pass the afternoon in sleep.
“I could stay here forever,” he whispered.
“And so you shall, for this is your final resting place.”
In the darkness, Sebby did not have to hide his smile. Todd was so funny, scaring him in his strange way. “Todd, that was so good. It was . . .” He shivered, and Todd shifted, moved; Sebby thought with disappointment that he was getting up, but in the next moment there was a draft, and then a blanket settled over the both of them. Sebby, lying naked atop a clothed Todd, was grateful for the warmth. Todd must have left the blanket handy when they had gone through the boxes of linens. Todd was so thoughtful!
Sebby almost felt guilty; he was sure that he himself was not so thoughtful, ever. Even in sex, and he went over it again in his mind as he snuggled, as Todd began to snore, reliving the sensation of sliding away. He understood suddenly how Todd had penetrated him again after Sebby had come; it was because he had withdrawn during Sebby’s climax. Sebby was familiar with the technique—had used it himself on lovers when fingering them—how a slow pulling out during your partner’s ejaculation could intensify an orgasm, but he had never known anyone who had the control to do it during sex. Or, he thought as sleep crept in, maybe it was just that no one had ever cared enough.
The prosecutor’s office took Sebby’s deposition. Sebby’s lawyer filed a restraining order against Collin. As Ethan had predicted, Collin pleaded to a lesser offense and was given probation.
Todd had two interviews, and one of them resulted in a second interview to follow.
He awoke one night with severe pain radiating all the way from his ear to the middle of his back. He tried to ignore it, but Sebby insisted that he see Dr. Roodnitsky. She determined that he was suffering a muscle spasm, probably due to overexertion. The treatment called for ice and heat alternating, and pain medication with muscle relaxant.
Todd balked at the drugs. He mistrusted anything that affected his mind’s operation.
“You need them,” Sebby said, his eyes narrowing. “How are you going to get better if you don’t take them?”
“But they make me stupid!” Todd said. “I can’t think!”
“You don’t have to think all the time,” Sebby said. Todd continued to protest, and Sebby put his hands on his hips and stared Todd down.“Take them or I’ll never watch another musical with you again.”
Todd took them.
After a few days, Todd had recovered enough to forgo the medication. Though he was not cleared to return to work, he was able to sit at a table in Java Hut and hammer at his borrowed laptop, pausing every hour to perform the prescribed exercises for his neck, shoulder, and back.
The current assignment from Rita was to come up with a theme for a series of ads for a Minnesota casino, and Todd was feeling stumped. Personally, he didn’t care to gamble and was at a loss to understand the motivations of those who did, but an ad man couldn’t allow his feelings to interfere with his job of convincing others that they needed and/or wanted a particular product or service.
He stared at his blank screen and rubbed his upper lip, humming to himself, and became aware of someone’s eyes on him. He glanced up and, not recognizing the young man who sat at his ease on a sofa—one ankle crossed over the other knee, his arm thrown across the sofa’s back—Todd returned to his work.
Lucky. Good luck. Bad luck. Blind luck. She’s lucky, you’re lucky, we’re all lucky! He chuckled to himself. A reminder popped up on his screen telling him to exercise. Obediently, he stood and raised his right arm straight in the air and caught the person still staring. The guy was attractive in an all-American sort of way. His skin glowed, his lips were full and pink. His hair, the color of wet sand, had careful highlights and was combed back from his forehead in a soft wave. Eyes sparkled with a lively curiosity as he looked Todd over. Frowning, Todd reseated himself and hunched over his laptop, doing his best to send the message that he was unavailable. However, the young man picked up his beverage and stood, revealing
himself to be tall and to possess a gym-sculpted body. He wore a loose shirt unbuttoned over a wifebeater, and Todd could imagine his six-pack rippling as he approached. He came close and stood over Todd, smiling and shaking his finger at him.
“You’re . . .” his eyes narrowed in thought, “Sebby’s boyfriend. Aren’t you?”
Todd brightened at once and sat up straight. “I am. Todd, rhymes with God. I’m sorry, have we met?”
“Yeah. At the thing. Okay if I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, he folded himself into the chair opposite Todd. He took a sip of his tall coffee and licked the foam from his lips. “What’s Sebby up to these days?”
Todd wasn’t sure to what “thing” the man might be referring, but he had met many of Sebby’s acquaintances, and it was possible he’d forgotten this handsome young man among the many that Sebby seemed to know. “Still working at Gimondi’s. Toying with the idea of getting his CPA. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
The man hesitated, his smile fading. He wet his lips. “I’m Collin.”
Todd’s mouth fell open and then snapped closed. He inhaled sharply. “How you’ve the gall to approach me . . .”
“I just want to know how he’s doing.” Collin’s eyes dropped. “I’m not supposed to call him or anything, and I just want to know he’s okay.”
Todd stared. “How can you possibly expect I would find it credible that you are even remotely concerned for Sebastián’s well-being?”
“I know what you think.” Collin swirled his cup and staring into the foamy depths. “But . . . I never meant to hurt him.”
“You broke a fucking coffee mug over his head!” Todd’s voice cracked with outrage, and a few patrons glanced in their direction.
“I never! God, is that what he said? Yeah, I broke the thing, threw it at the wall. I lost my temper a little.”
“You lying, seeping, septic tank.”
“Ask him! Look him in the eye, make him look you in the eye, ask him what happened to the mug!”