by Jaime Samms
His cock was no longer hard, but that didn’t stop the pretty blush from sneaking up his neck and invading his cheeks, blurring the ginger freckles to near invisibility. The pink didn’t cover the dark mark Vance had left on Len’s neck, and the sight made Vance want to snarl a bit and push the man down, make more marks all over his ivory skin.
Vance went to the bedside table, stopped, and picked up the heavy cuffs. He turned to face his lover. “Do you want these?” he asked.
Len eyed the cuffs, looked up into Vance’s face, and to Vance’s surprise, he shrugged. “Why cuffs?” he asked, his voice soft and slightly broken.
Vance crouched in front of him. “Why not cuffs?”
Len touched the spot on his neck sporting Vance’s mark. “Don’t Doms usually give their sub a collar?”
“Um.” Balancing the cuffs, one in each hand, Vance glanced down at them. His gaze moved to Len’s thin, pale wrists and traveled up his arms to the gentle curves of muscles finally giving him some definition. “I suppose some do.” He met Len’s eyes. “But I would never strap a girth on a horse who’d had her stomach lashed. If I wanted to ride her, I’d train her to take me bareback. What suits one man might not suit another. A horse who can’t abide a bit might take sweetly to a bosal. Every creature has its own needs. Its own temperament.”
“You think because Ace liked to choke me, I can’t stand a collar?”
Vance smiled. “I think”—he knelt and set one cuff down to pick up Len’s right wrist—“that you can’t abide something so obvious. I think you like how this feels.” He fastened the first buckle and held Len’s wrist up between them. “Look at you, boy,” he crooned. “You don’t see your own face, but I do. How you go soft. How you calm when you get the feel of the bindings on you. A collar would never give you that.” He caressed Len’s cheek, and Len turned his face, leaned into the touch, his breath ghosting out in a light, barely heard sound of contentment.
“Nobody knows what these mean,” Len said, watching him from those eyes. They were so pale with the sunlight slanting on them from the window. He looked surreal in his intensity, as though he were glowing from within, and Vance could barely breathe, drinking in that sight.
“You know what they mean.” Vance spread Len’s fingers and kissed his palm. “I know what they mean.” He straightened to reach Len’s neck with his mouth and covered the mark there with his lips.
Len gasped and squirmed when Vance closed his teeth over it, bruising him deeper and waiting until he heard that telltale whimper from his lover that the pain was registering down in his soul. Backing off, he licked the spot, soothing it, and nudged Len’s head back to nuzzle at his throat.
Len groaned, and Vance strayed one hand to his boy’s groin to feel the heat and hardness there.
“You see?” he whispered against Len’s skin. “You understand who I am. What I am. Where your place is. That’s all that matters. This weekend is going to be hard.” He moved back so he could look Len in the eye. “You’re going to deal with a lot of old shit coming back to dig at you.” He lifted Len’s bound wrist and he waited until his lover truly saw him before he spoke again. “Understanding your place will help you deal. I might not be at your side every second. But I will be what you need, even if I’m in another room. This will remind you like a collar never could.”
Len nodded and some of the tension left his body. He wasn’t calm, exactly, but he seemed to accept Vance’s explanation.
“Now let’s get the other one on so you can get dressed. There’s a horde of people around your birthday present, and while I personally have no objection to you wanderin’ around naked, I’m not the only one who would see it.” He worked on the second cuff as he spoke, and Len’s breath caught as the tightness of the buckle clasping it around his wrist coincided with Vance’s words. “And as pretty as I find your naked ass, it also belongs only to me.” He finished with the cuff, uncurled Len’s fingers, and kissed that palm before meeting Len’s eyes once more. “No one else gets even a glimpse of it from now on.”
Len’s eager, immediate nod was gratifying in a soul-fulfilling way, and Vance smiled, a broad, heartfelt smile he realized he hadn’t shared with anyone in a very long time.
“Good. Now get dressed.” He stood and crossed his arms. “I’ll wait.”
It was adorable, the way Len skittered about the room, pink from his hairline right down his neck and chest, knowing Vance’s avid gaze was on him the entire time. He would have expected that reaction if Len was undressing. It was utterly endearing to see it as he found underwear, jeans, and a long-sleeved T-shirt to pull on.
The shirt was one Len hadn’t worn since he’d arrived. It was black and nearly see-through except where it sported iridescent orange and pink patterns that clashed atrociously with his hair. It hugged his newly muscled shoulders and chest, and the luminescent patterns curved along his belly, disappearing under the waist of his low-slung jeans. It was rock star all over, and with the added accent of the functional cuffs, the look made Vance’s heart race a million times faster than it already had been.
If he hadn’t known Maggie was watching the clock, waiting for them to appear, he’d have pulled Len to his knees by his damp hair and shoved his cock down the man’s throat, just for looking that goddamned good. As it was, he palmed himself and merely told Len he’d do it, had he the luxury.
Len’s eyes sparked and his pupils dilated. His cheeks flushed, but not with the heat of embarrassment. That look was all want and surrender, and Vance smiled, content with the reaction. No reason he should be the only one sporting wood as they made their way down to the crowd in the yard. He could get his erection under control, but he doubted Len had that kind of mastery yet. It would be fun to watch. Vance was pretty sure the others would be too enthralled with the horse, but Kilmer would notice, and that was sport enough for Vance, who wasn’t above showing off his property, even if there was no way he’d ever share it.
He was right. As he entered the yard behind Len, Kilmer gave him a sly look and shook his head. Vance didn’t really care if his old friend approved of the display. Len was his, and it pleased him to have that kind of control. It also pleased him to know Len was tough enough to deal with it. He did stop abruptly when he saw the horse, though.
“What the hell?” Len whirled on Vance. “What?”
“It’s a horse, darlin’.” Vance grinned at him.
“You bought me a horse?”
Vance grinned wider, squaring his shoulders and generally feeling very pleased with himself.
“A fucking horse?” Len’s eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open. “Really?”
Vance nodded.
“I thought I wasn’t to be trusted with them.” Len’s brows furrowed into the tight V over his eyes.
“You needed to be taught.” Vance glanced at Kilmer. “You learned. Do you like him?”
Len stared at him a moment longer before turning back to the animal. “He’s… gigantic.”
Vance chuckled. “You’ll need a stool to saddle him.”
“No shit.” Finally, Len approached, holding out a hand and talking in a low voice to the animal. The horse responded with a snort and lowered his head to sniff Len’s outstretched fingers.
Everyone around them quieted as Len and the horse communed, Len speaking in a hushed, gentle tone, and the horse nuzzling him.
“You’re a beautiful boy,” Len whispered, leaning his head against the animal’s forehead and cupping the big face. “I can’t believe you’re mine.” He closed his eyes and sighed. The horse shifted a foot, lifted his head, and hung his chin over Len’s shoulder, as close an approximation of a hug as a horse could get, it seemed. Len hugged him right back, moving his arms about his massive neck.
A camera clicked and Maggie gazed, self-satisfied, at her phone. “Perfect.”
Vance scowled at her. “You keep that off the Internet, Maggie.”
She scowled back. “Calm down, Papa Bear. It’s for your mantel.” She
smiled, saved the picture, and tucked her phone into the breast pocket of the oversized flannel shirt she wore instead of an apron. “Honestly, if I didn’t look after you boys… scrambled eggs, indeed.”
Vance smiled as he turned back to watch Len with his new horse. She had a point.
19
LEN SPENT the rest of the morning and early afternoon seriously hanging out with his horse. The animal’s name was Krall, after one of Vance’s favorite singers, apparently, though Len had to admit he’d never heard of her.
“Because you don’t pay attention, brat,” Vance teased. “But come on. We should get your friend settled for the day. We’ll put him in the small pasture and let him meet the others over the fence for now. Kilmer will look out for him and make sure no one gets hurt. What?”
Len grinned. “You talk about them like they’re people. It’s cute.”
That got a snort and a gentle cuff across the back of his head, and Len grinned, shaking his hair back into place.
“Horses are a damn sight smarter than most people,” Vance grumbled, and Len laughed.
“Seems like that sometimes.”
Vance smoothed a hand down Krall’s neck as they led him toward the gate. “I expect your friends are going to be here any minute.”
Len froze, a hand on Krall’s neck, and the horse turned to nuzzle him, as if sensing the opening pit in his stomach.
Vance said nothing, just watched him, and Len found himself rubbing the fingers of his left hand over the cuff on his right wrist.
Vance’s gaze strayed to the gesture, and Len hurriedly reached for the gate to admit the horse into the tiny paddock. The scabs on the back of his right hand were barely healed, and he didn’t like Vance noticing them.
“Let me see,” Vance said quietly.
A heavy breath of reluctance had Len leaning on the horse, putting the massive animal between himself and Vance. Why he thought it mattered, he couldn’t quite figure out. There was no way Vance could have missed the marks when he was fastening the cuffs. And it wasn’t as though they were new. Len had never managed to stop rubbing at the old scar, and that had made it larger and more ragged. It was a nervous tick, and he never realized he was doing it until he bled. At least this time he had sought the comfort of the heavy cuff and not shredded his skin.
“Len.” Vance held out a hand.
Reluctant, but obedient, Len ducked under Krall’s neck and stood with his horse gracefully arched over him, protecting his back. He lifted his right hand, palm down, and let Vance pull back his sleeve.
“Tell me about this.”
Len swallowed, and his fingers, apart from his will, curled into a fist. “Why?”
Vance’s dark gaze locked on his, and his face, though not angry, was stern, unyielding. “I need to protect you.”
“I’m a big boy.”
Holding his gaze steady, Vance ran a hand over his stomach, and Len cringed. He’d seen the bruises that morning, still vibrant from the nocturnal pounding Len had given him. The gesture bared the long, purple welt on his forearm he sported from the book that could have seriously hurt him had it connected with his head, as Len had intended.
Len dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet. “You have to keep yourself safe.”
Vance cupped his chin gently and made him look up. “Keeping you on an even keel does keep me safe, darlin’. Knowin’ what might set you off means I don’t have to duck as often. I know you’ll get a handle on it all eventually. Let me help.”
“I thought this was all stuff I was supposed to unburden on Lenore. You’re not a shrink, remember?”
“I’m not.” Vance let him go, moved his hand to Krall, and rubbed the horse’s sleek coat. “An’ I can’t do anythin’ but hold on to you when you need holdin’. But if I know where the scars come from, I can avoid makin’ ’em deeper.”
Of course it made sense. And Dr. Stanton’s office was a safe place to delve into the old memories, the half-remembered traumas, but it wasn’t the end of the healing. He had to share some of it, at least, with the man who could, conceivably, put him back in the same place he’d been, even if he did so unknowingly. Being aware where Len came from made it safer for both of them.
“I tried to stop my father,” he said softly. “What he was doing wasn’t right.”
“He was protecting you.”
“I was a kid. I needed to be away from that man, that place, and he was doing… that. I tried to stop him. He went off on me. Yelling how I was a freak, a pervert if I thought I should protect filth like him. I just didn’t want what was happening to be happening. It wasn’t anything else. Just scary, and I was freaked out and I wanted to go home. I tried to pull dad away from him, to get him to look at me, to see I needed to go home.” He shrugged, grabbed his elbow, and dragged the arm in front of himself.
Vance let that self-protective gesture last about half a second before he loosened Len’s fingers and hauled him close, hugging him.
“You’re home now. No one can hurt you like that again.”
“I know.”
He did. He’d been sure to protect himself for a long time after that. All the way until Ace had gone off the rails and that relationship had turned ugly.
Vance held him for a while longer. The horse drifted off a few paces and began munching the grass on the front lawn, and Len sank deeper into the embrace. It was right for him to be there. Safe. Warm and perfect.
They didn’t part until the deep grumble of a motor pulling up the drive alerted them.
A shadow blocked the sun.
Firefly’s tour bus came to a slow rolling stop five feet from where they stood. Krall lifted his head, regarded the huge vehicle curiously, then swung back to the infinitely more interesting grass.
Unsurprisingly Jethro was the first off the bus, his long legs carrying him quickly to Len. His giant strides had his dreadlocks swinging and slapping around his shoulders. A brilliantly colored tattoo on his left bicep gleamed in the morning sun, the sunscreen over the new art clearly just applied. As he approached, he peeled off his huge sunglasses, revealing his usual bright, sunny expression, complete with eye-watering grin. He threw his arms wide to gather Len into a bear hug that lifted him off his feet.
“You’re skinny, dude! Don’t they feed you?”
“’Course they do,” Len muttered, pulling the edges of his shirt down when Jethro dropped him back onto his feet. He gripped Jethro’s arm and examined the new tat. It was a new age style firefly, huge and wicked looking, with Jet’s dreadlocks and ridiculous sunglasses. “Sweet. Gonna get the whole arm done?”
Jethro shrugged and held up the full sleeve on his other arm. “Feels a little unbalanced right now.”
“Suits your personality,” Beks muttered as she shoved Jethro aside and poked at Len’s bicep. “Not as scrawny as you were.”
“Shovelin’ a lot of shit, huh?” Jethro asked.
Len grimaced, but nodded. “Good to see you guys,” he said, doing his best to not stare at the ground between his boots and Jethro’s pointed black snakeskin ones with silver toe guards. “Those are fucking butt-ugly, dude.”
Jethro laughed and cuffed him on the arm. “You like ’em? Beks hates them.”
“Beks has good taste.”
“Jerkwad.”
“Freak.”
“Glad everyone’s managing to get right back into the old groove.” Alice’s voice brought Len’s gaze fully up at last, and he took in her glowing face, framed by blonde hair Len couldn’t ever remember seeing down before. She looked good in casual wear, he thought, eyeing her from heeled boots to bright blue eyes, then doing a double take.
“What is that?” he blurted, pointing at her ever-so-slightly rounded belly.
“Allegedly, it’s Clive’s Mini-Me,” Jethro informed him. “How weird is that?”
Alice made a face at Jethro as she passed him and gathered Len into a tight hug. “How are you, sweetie?”
For the briefest of moments, Len was tempted to t
ell her the unadorned truth. When she let him go, he smiled and told her he was fine instead.
She didn’t look much like she believed him, but she let it go and stepped aside when Clive rested a hand on her back.
“Hey, Clive.” Len managed to make brief eye contact with the drummer.
“Hey.”
“A kid, huh?”
He shrugged his heavily muscled shoulders. “So they tell me.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
Alice backhanded him in the gut, and he grinned and smooched her cheek, but the levity faded when his attention returned to Len. “So.” Sunshine glinted off his shaved head, and he raked his top teeth through the white soul patch under his lower lip. He’d had the habit since Len had first known him, and only did it when he was supremely uncomfortable. The tiny patch of hair was accompanied by a short, nicely trimmed goatee at the moment. Clive always shaved his head but had a stunning array of facial hair combinations that changed more than most women’s hairstyles.
Len crossed his arms and said nothing.
“So Chris wasn’t going to come,” Clive said at last.
Len glanced at the bus and saw his replacement hanging off the last step, watching them from under shaggy brown bangs. “Hey.” He shoved one hand into his tight jeans pocket and waved with the other.
“Hey.” Christian jumped down and wandered over, both hands pushed deep into his own pockets. As always, his small stature surprised Len. He was a beautifully proportioned if very small man, and still retained the boy-next-door good looks Len remembered. It seemed being on the road with the band agreed with him, because he seemed peppy and genuinely happy to have been invited.
Maybe that was just his perpetually upbeat personality shining through despite the long weeks on the road that wore most men to nubs after a while.
Len had never noticed before how much he resembled his cousin, Trevor. Maybe Len had just been so used to seeing Trevor, even all made-up as Damian, day in and day out, that the singer’s face had been the simple, true background of his life. Since they’d parted ways, he’d had to rely on memory, and seeing Christian, it was clear he and Trevor had been fished out of the same end of the gene pool.