by R. J. Moray
“Do you want something?”
“You were nice to me,” she said, that pout so red it made him uncomfortable. “At Mistress Celestina’s. Better than that cat bitch.”
She meant Kitty. Channon couldn’t argue—Kitty had been awful to her—but ‘cat bitch’ seemed unnecessary. “She was probably just jealous.”
Alice dismissed that with a flick of her black-lashed eyes. “She hated me. And Mistress.” She paused, eyeing him narrowly. “Mistress said that you liked me. Is that true?”
“What? I don’t know you.”
“But you like girls, don’t you?” She took a step into the room, her head listing to one side as she looked him over. “You like women.”
“I like women,” Channon said slowly, backing up against the sink. “I don’t like like them.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t,” God, how to say it? “I’m not into playing with them.”
“Why not? Mistress says the essential energy between men and women can’t be ignored. It’s in your primal nature.” She licked her lip, leaving it shiny and wet in a way that made Channon’s gut twist. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. Not with her. Not now. Not ever. “You want to procreate. Even if you spend your sexual energy with other men, it’s hollow and meaningless. You can’t possibly find the deep connection men and women share between them with another man. It’s like masturbation. It’s not real.”
The way she said it. Like Channon’s whole life for the last year and a half was a lie. Like none of it mattered at all. Like Channon couldn’t possibly mean anything to Jack except…what? Something to masturbate into.
And sure, sometimes…sometimes it was exactly like that. But that wasn’t because they were both men, it was because that was the game. It was just a game they played, exciting and devastating and always, always for play.
Because Jack loved him. Channon knew that with a sharp and ferocious clarity. Jack loved him more than anyone had ever loved Channon before, and he showed it, every day. Little things, like remembering Channon’s favorite gelato and treating him with it, or texting him a picture of a fat pigeon on the ledge outside his office window, or kissing Channon awake for no reason except to tell him that he loved him. Sharing his breakfast. Touching Channon with gentle tenderness. Praising him when he was good and encouraging him when he wasn’t the best he could be.
It hit him like a freight train that this was something Jack had been trying to tell him, all the time. I love you. You matter to me. This is important. We are important. And, because Jack also said this—Fuck everyone else. I don’t care what they think.
So. “Fuck you,” Channon said, feeling it in his gut. “That’s bullshit.”
She recoiled a step, her lashes fluttering in alarm, but regained her poise in a moment. “It’s the truth. You just can’t see it through the lust.”
“Really? Because I think I can see pretty clearly that you’re trying to fuck things up for me and Jack. And I don’t know what I ever did to you. I was nice to you, you said so. I stood up for you. Why would you come and say things like this? And you’re gay too, so—”
“No I’m not,” she snapped, her hands clawing into fists. “I’m not gay.”
“You’re with Mistress Gwendolyn,” Channon argued, lifting his chin to stare her down. “That’s pretty gay.”
“It wasn’t sexual,” she hissed at him. “It was pure, and—”
But Channon’s attention had caught on something else. “What do you mean ‘was’?” That meant…”Did you break up?”
“It wasn’t like that! We weren’t in a relationship, we were just playing.” Alice looked upset, and Channon thought, Oh. Maybe that explained a lot. “She was never interested in anything more than platonic play, and I—”
“Were you?” he demanded.
She looked at him like he’d slapped her. “Platonic love between women is the highest form of love,” she said shakily.
It didn’t sound like she believed it. Or, no. It sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
“Because you think men and women have ‘an essential energy between them’ that’s, what, magic or something?” He took a deep breath, finally on firmer ground. His head felt light, his shoulders too, like something he’d been carrying around had finally dropped away. “Did ‘Mistress Gwendolyn’ tell you that? Did she tell you it was better to be straight because of magical energy? Because that’s bullshit. She’s just fucking…bullshit.”
“She said you’d resist,” Alice said shakily. “She said you wouldn’t believe me. She said Master Jack was deluded, and you were polluting each other, so you couldn’t see who you were really supposed to be with.”
“And that’s you, is it?” Rage pulled over him in a hot sheet, making it hard to think. “She thought, what? We should swap? I should go with her and you should go with Jack? Because you’re women?”
“She wanted him!” Alice said, her voice high with distress. “She said it was natural! And you could learn to be mine and I—”
“No fucking way!” God, it felt like his head was going to explode. “Never. Not fucking ever. Not her, not you.”
“But he shares you,” she spat. “I’ve seen you with them. Master Nathaniel. Master Lockwood. He lets them use you, doesn’t he? How can you think—”
“That’s none of your fucking business,” Channon snapped. “That’s got nothing to do with you.”
“He’s using you,” she insisted. “Just a thing he uses for his pleasure. He doesn’t care about you.”
She was so wrong. Channon knew better. And for once he was sure, completely and utterly sure of what his Sir would think.
“Go to hell,” he said, and then he did push past her, shoving her out of his way and not feeling even a little guilty about it.
Where was Jack? He needed Jack right now, needed to tell him everything. Needed Jack to know that he understood, and trusted him, and how very, very wrong she’d been.
❧
“Where’s Channon?” Jack asked, when Nate returned alone.
“I thought he’d come right back,” Nate said, frowning. “I left him near the bathroom ten minutes ago.”
It felt wrong. Jack didn’t like not knowing where Channon was at a play party, especially when Channon was alone. God, he preferred it when Channon was with Ewan, because they took care of each other. When had he actually changed his mind about that?
But now Channon was alone. Or maybe not alone. “Wait here.”
Nate laughed. “For Lionel to find me? No way.”
“I’ve dealt with Lionel,” Jack said impatiently. “Wait here for Ewan. He’s gone off with a sub called Corey. You should be here when he gets back.” Or if Channon showed up.
Nate looked surprised, then soft. “All right. Go get your boy.”
Jack left him there, striding into the crowd looking for Channon or anyone he could find who might know him.
He spotted Tom Lockwood by the front door. “Tom!”
Tom offered him a beardy grin. “Hey Jack. You look like you’re on a mission.”
“Have you seen Channon?”
Tom shook his head. “Not in here. I’d remember.”
“If you do, can you tell him to wait for me here? I’ll come back if I don’t find him.”
Tom nodded, frowning. “You worried about him?”
“He’s nineteen,” Jack said, making light of it because, well, Channon was probably fine. “I’m always worried about him.”
Tom grinned and nodded and Jack moved off, but he couldn’t see Channon anywhere. Not near the bathroom or in the salon or out on the deck. He didn’t panic, didn’t allow himself to. He focused. Channon was here somewhere. He would find him. It was inevitable. All he had to do was—
“Sir!”
It was like his heart started beating again. He turned, reaching for Channon while he was still in motion. “There you are, sweetheart.”
Relief flooded him, far out of pr
oportion with the situation, but then he caught the tight, anxious look on Channon’s face and his gut chilled. “What’s wrong?”
“Can I talk to you, Sir? Please?”
That he felt he had to ask. Jack caught Channon’s arm and guided him though the party and upstairs. One of the guest rooms was being used as a coat room. He took Channon in and closed the door. “What happened?”
Channon took a deep breath, eyes closed. Then he looked Jack square in the face. “Can you…I need you to not be my Sir. Just for a little while. I wanna tell you some stuff and I can’t if—-”
“It’s okay,” Jack reassured him, though his heart was pounding. What the fuck had happened? “Here,” and he reached up to tap his fingers on the buckle of Channon’s collar. “Do you want to take this off for a bit? To make things clearer?”
Channon nodded. Jack unfastened the collar and pulled it free, tucking it safely in his pocket. Before he could say anything, Channon had flung himself against Jack’s chest, wrapping his arms around Jack’s ribs and holding on like a baby possum.
“Hey. Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay.” Jack smoothed a hand up his spine. “Whatever you need to tell me, it’s fine.”
“I know. I just…I just needed to.” He squeezed Jack hard and then stepped back, his expression uncharacteristically determined. “I need to tell you some things. You won’t like some of it, and I’m sorry.” He breathed in, and out, and set his jaw. “I thought…I’ve been really stupid. I’ve been thinking you wanted things and I didn’t want to talk to you about them in case you said I was right, and I didn’t want to know I was right, and I didn’t want want to be right, and—”
“Slow down. It’s okay.” Jack sat down on the bed. “Take your time. Tell me what you thought I wanted.”
Channon nodded. “I thought you wanted to have a baby.”
It was so unexpected and yet—“Okay. And the idea of that upset you?” If Channon didn’t want children…Jack didn't know how to feel about that. It felt too far away, too unreal.
Channon shook his head. “I thought that meant you wanted to have a baby with someone else. A woman.”
“What woman?”
“I don’t know. A woman.” Channon shrugged, one of his hands working a thumb into the belt-loop of his trousers. He was going to damage the fabric. Jack took his hand and detached it from the loop, squeezing it in his fingers until Channon squeezed back. “I wasn’t really thinking straight.”
“It sounds like you were thinking very straight,” Jack said, not sure if it was okay to tease Channon about this, but he was rewarded by an expressive teenage eye-roll. “So you thought I’d find a woman to have a baby with, is that it?”
“Yeah. And I couldn’t see how I fit into that, so I figured…” His mouth turned down, in embarrassment perhaps. Or misery. “I figured there wasn’t space for me in there. So I figured I wouldn’t be there. In that future. With you.”
The pea-sized lump in Jack’s throat swelled to a grape. “You thought I’d end things with you. To have a baby with someone else. Why did you think that? How did I give you that impression?” Because he’d tried to tell Channon how he felt, to make him feel secure and safe, and know that Jack meant to keep him for as long as Channon wanted to be kept.
“It wasn’t you,” Channon said, sounding sorry for himself. “I think I got confused. Because of the Jessica thing. And that lady said how you and me—I mean you and I—can’t have a baby. Because I can’t give you that. Like it’s my fault.”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” Jack argued, feeling like this conversation was spinning out of control.
Bu Channon gave him a hurt look. “I know, I’m stupid.”
“You’re far from stupid.” Jack said it too harshly, he knew that, but he hated it whenever Channon said that because he knew why Channon believed it. He cleared his throat, and tried to sound encouraging. “Sometimes we let our brains do unwise things.”
“Stupid things,” Channon said, shaking his head. “Because I should know better. Because you always tell me, you always say it and you mean it, I know you do. I know you. I trust you. I should trust you about this, too. Because,” Channon went on, his voice gone thick with emotion, “I know you love me, and I know you want what’s best for me, and you’d never do that, just get rid of me because you wanted something else. That’s not how you make me feel. Not disposable. You make me feel wanted, like,” and he gestured wildly with the hand not clutched in Jack’s fingers, “like you like having me around. Like…just there, not even doing anything. Like it’s okay to just exist. I don’t have to compete with anyone else, be the best at anything, meet some…I don’t know. Some standard I don’t know about to make you pay attention to me.” His breath had gone ragged, but Jack didn’t dare to interrupt him, not now. “You just tell me what you want, and I can always do it. It’s never too much, even when it feels too much sometimes. And if I failed you, if I tried and failed, I know you’d forgive me. You wouldn’t just leave and never come back, and never tell me why, and let me find out that you had a family and you didn’t—”
He broke off, swallowing hard, and Jack tugged on his fingers, too overwhelmed to say anything but needing Channon in his arms. Channon let himself he tugged, let Jack bury his face in Channon’s chest. Jack felt Channon's chin tuck over his skull, felt Channon’s fingers curl into his hair, and squeezed his eyes shut against the feeling swelling up in him.
For Channon to say these things out loud, things Jack had been wanting him to understand for so long. It stole the words from his mouth, left him with only this smothering emotion that threatened to bead up in his eyes. Channon, Channon, don’t ever leave me. Let me take care of you and love you, always.
“Sir?”
Jack breathed in the citrusy scent of Channon’s chest, and leaned back, smiling up at him, through the smile felt strained. “Go on, sweetheart.”
Channon wiped at his face with the palm of his hand, and he looked embarrassed so Jack did his best not to see it. “Okay. So, I thought all that. And I should have known better. And then Alice, just now—”
“Gwendolyn’s Alice?”
Channon nodded. “She said all this crazy stuff that Gwendolyn told her about men and women having ‘essential energy’ and that men with men was…I don’t know. Not real. Like it didn’t count. And I was so angry. Because it does. Because it’s real. And I know that, because I know how it feels with you, and it’s—” He swallowed, blinking hard. “I knew she was wrong, and maybe it was, like, self-hatred?” He shook his head. “Or something. But I was so mad, and I realized I’d being doing the same thing. Because I’d thought you’d want a real relationship, with a woman, and babies, and all of that. And I—I’m sorry.” He breathed out in a rush, like he’d run out of steam. “I’m sorry I thought that. I shouldn’t have doubted you. That was stupid.”
Jack didn’t know where to start, he felt too many things all at once. Anger, with Alice (and Gwendolyn, managing to cause trouble when she wasn’t even invited). Relief, for the fact that Channon had worked his way through it, and understood how Jack felt about him. Shock, that Channon had worked himself up into a crisis over babies of all things. Fear, for how easily he could have lost Channon, if this had taken root in him.
And desire. For Channon. For a future with him, and yeah, maybe children. One day.
But first. “You are never stupid,” Jack told him, needing him to get this. “But sometimes, you should come to me sooner. Talk it out before you work yourself up over things I could help explain.” Jack pulled Channon right against his chest, wrapping him up in both arms. “If you’d asked I would have told you—I have no interest in being with a woman. And I certainly don’t want children with anyone but you.”
Channon’s eyes went wide. Then he blushed, his face flushing a deep and unmistakable red. “Sir…”
“There’s no-one I would rather make a family with. No-one else I want to share that with. Just you.” Channon smiled, and Jack took the oppo
rtunity to pull him down into his lap to be kissed. “In fact, you’re the only person I’d want to get pregnant.”
God, the thought of it. Impossible, impossible, and yet…
Channon made a sort of half-snort half-chuckle. “Sir!”
“I mean if we’re going to have a baby,” Jack teased, nuzzling his cheek, “we should do it the old-fashioned way.”
Channon laughed. He looked so relieved Jack felt it like a fist in his chest, squeezing his heart.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Jack said, kissing him again. “Let’s go home and make a baby.”
Chapter Five
The moment they were in the elevator of their building, Channon was shoved up against the side of it, Jack’s body heavy against him. He barely had time to make a squeak; Jack’s mouth found his, his teeth in Channon’s lip, covering him. Jack’s hands caught in Channon’s clothes, gathering him up against his chest and Channon let himself go loose and easy, let Jack manhandle him, overcome by the suddenness of it all.
“I was thinking,” Jack muttered in his ear, “about running you a bath. Soaping you up. Every inch of you,” he said, one hand sliding over Channon’s hip to cup his ass, fingers pressing up threateningly in the cleft.
Channon bit his lip, his face hot. It was embarrassing when Jack did that to him, soaped him up in intimate places and rinsed him clean. And then Jack would want to inspect him, make him brace against the tiles while Jack held his cheeks open and thumbed the pucker of his hole, humming to himself in satisfaction. Sometimes Jack would blow on his wet skin to see him flinch, and Channon’s face would get hotter and hotter as Jack admired him. Of course Jack loved that. Channon felt giddy, now, thinking of it.
“And then I wanted to oil you. Just rub you until you were dripping with slick. Slip my fingers into you and see how many you could take.” He bit Channon’s earlobe for emphasis and Channon’s head thudded back against the mirrored glass.