All Cocks Stories Box Set Volume 2

by Smith,T. M.

  Dusty sat up, leaning closer to David. “This is a safe place, D. Whatever your family did to you, whatever they said, you don’t have to be afraid to be who you are here.” Dusty tried to reassure him.

  All uncertainty vanished, replaced by a shy smile as David slowly lifted his eyes to meet Dusty’s gaze. “I’ve always felt safe with you, D.”

  “Good,” Dusty patted him on the knee. “I’m exhausted, let’s get you into William’s room.” Dusty stood and reached for him, but David shook his head.

  “I think I’ll stay here on the couch and watch some TV, if that’s okay.” David told him.

  Dusty sat down on the coffee table in front of him. “You don’t ever have to ask for permission to do something, D. If you want to stay out here and binge watch a show all night, that’s perfectly fine. Okay?” Dusty waited, smiling again when David nodded.

  Dusty fought the urge to stay close, to hover, to make sure David was okay. Instead he said goodnight and put one foot in front of the other, slowly, walking to his room. Closing the door, he paused, reaching for the knob he opened it again and left it cracked, just to be safe. He lay in bed for a long while, listening to the sounds coming from the TV, occasionally broken by a chuckle when David would laugh about something. Soon enough, Dusty was snoring softly, dreaming of rolling over and wrapping his arms around the smaller man with blond hair, blue eyes, and pink, pert, kissable lips.

  Chapter 6 | Floodgates

  A week later, David still felt most comfortable on the couch. He’d met William a few days after Dusty brought him home from the hospital. He liked Dusty’s roommate; he was nice and friendly and much like Dusty, William made him feel safe. He’d confided in David —one night after dinner when Dusty left them to clean the kitchen while he ran down the block to a bodega to get them some ice cream—that the only reason he’d moved in when Kory moved out was so that Dusty wouldn’t have to pay all of the rent on his own.

  “I spend the majority of my time out at the big house, but it’s nice to have a room here where I can keep all my shit, a place I can escape to if necessary.” William had told him.

  The big guy had even volunteered to drive David to his appointment with Tristan once when Dusty was running late after a shoot. He still didn’t do well with crowds, the noise that generally accompanied larger groups of people set him on edge. His limited mobility with one leg still in a cast and the loss of vision in one eye proved to be a liability more often than not when out in public as well. But both Dusty and William were masters at distracting him and keeping him grounded.

  Dusty had already called it a night, David left on his own to veg out while watching back to back episodes of Criminal Minds and Blue Bloods, his favorite pastime as of late. When the credits for that particular episode started rolling, he pulled his ass up off the couch and hobbled into the kitchen for a drink. Soda in hand, he dropped back down onto the couch and stretched his legs, leaning back and getting comfortable again. As soon as the news started he groaned, but couldn’t muster the strength to pull his ass up off the comfy couch to grab the remote from where it sat on the love seat across from him. “News it is, I guess.” He was just starting to doze off when a story caught his attention and had him sitting straight up.

  “We have a live update for you tonight from The Monster Bar down in the Village. As most New Yorkers are aware, there was a horrific event at the local gay nightclub a few months ago that left three people dead, and dozens of others wounded. A massive clean-up and renovation of the club is underway with the help of a local LGBT Youth Center, New Horizons…”

  David stared at the screen, stunned by what he was hearing. While his memory of what happened to put him in the hospital was still fuzzy at best, he could remember being at The Monster Bar—it was one of the last things he could remember in fact.

  Is that what happened to me? Was I there when this happened, is that how I got hurt? David tried so hard to remember, but he couldn’t, nothing more than fragments and unclear images came to mind. Closing his eyes, he tried to grasp an entire memory or random thought. A grainy image came into view. He was on the sidewalk in front of The Monster Bar with Troy, his boyfriend at the time. They were holding hands and laughing…David gritted his teeth, pounded his clenched fists on his knees, exasperated—once again he started to remember something only to have it snatched away by some invisible force holding his memories hostage.

  He’d seen Tristan three times since being released from the hospital and still, he couldn’t sort through the jumble of images, the few things he could remember. Shaking his head, he focused on the TV once again, seeing an image of a black man with impossibly blue eyes flash across the screen, the face somewhat familiar.

  “…a bartender at the club that was killed by the crazed gunman, Dale Thompson, along with…”

  “What?!” David shouted, trying to stand but losing his footing and falling back onto the couch. He stared at the screen, an image of his brother glaring back at him, those menacing blue eyes making his skin crawl.

  Dusty rushed into the room eyes wide, probably startled awake by David’s shout moments before. “D, what’s wrong?” He jerked away from Dusty’s outstretched hands.

  “Is it true?” David asked.

  “Is what true, D?” Dusty answered his question with another.

  Pointing a shaking finger at the TV, David sucked in a much needed breath before he asked again. “Is it true?”

  The look of confusion on Dusty’s face quickly morphed into one of sorrow, his eyes moving from the onscreen image back to David, full of pain.

  “Oh god,” David gasped; his eyes stung with fresh tears and his chest burned. He couldn’t breathe. Ears ringing, David panted, unable to catch his breath. He could hear Dusty calling out to him, though his voice sounded far away. Everything went black and David floated aimlessly, for how long he wasn’t sure. Trying to focus on the tiny voice in his head telling him to calm down, breath in and out slowly, David blinked away the fog, looking up at Dusty, his face a mask of concern.

  “Wha…what happened?” Voice creaking, David wondered why his head was in Dusty’s lap.

  “You were hyperventilating, passed out on me so I pulled you down to lay in my lap and rubbed your temples until your breathing leveled out.” Unshed tears swam in Dusty’s eyes and as much as that pained David, he wanted to know the truth.

  David had questions that couldn’t be asked with his head in Dusty’s lap. Slowly, he sat up and moved away from Dusty before he spoke again. “Why did you keep this from me? All of you, the doctors and nurses and Tristan; this is what you’ve all known all along, isn’t it?”

  Dusty lifted his hand and reached for him, catching himself and letting his hand drop. He lowered his head and apologized. “I’m so sorry, David.”

  “Sorry for what, Dusty? Lying to me? Keeping this from me?” David yelled, shaken to his very core.

  David could see the pain and uncertainty he was feeling thrown back at him when Dusty lifted his head and their eyes met. “I never lied to you D, never. My agenda is the same now as it has been all along: to protect you.”

  He knew the truth in what Dusty was saying and as irritated as he was at being kept in the dark, he wanted the warmth wrapped around him that he only felt with Dusty. As usual, his protector could read David like a book. Dusty held his arms out, waited for David to scoot closer so he could wrap his arms around him. “Dusty, please, tell me what happened.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this now, D? I think we should wait until we’re in Tristan’s office.” Dusty spoke softly but David could hear the underlying tone of fear in his voice.

  Pulling back slightly, he looked up at Dusty and pleaded. “I want to know now D, and I want to know everything.”

  There was no way to ever put the jack back in the box once the crank was turned. Dusty started talking and the words fell freely. More than once Dusty choked up talking about friends and loved ones whose lives had been irrevocably altered by
his brother’s actions all those months ago. For all David knew, he was sitting in the exact spot that the man named Jon had sat in while kissing his boyfriend Kory, Dusty’s best friend and previous roommate. Jon was an NYPD detective, and was also the brother of David’s therapist, Tristan. How does Tristan not hate me? David thought. Tristan and Dusty were the only people in his life he trusted and felt safe with. They were both so kind to him while knowing David’s flesh and blood was responsible for so much pain and misery.

  And then there was the man whose image flashed on the screen minutes before Dale’s. His name was Gio; he was a bartender at The Monster Bar, which was probably where Dusty knew him from. The man with eyes a shade of blue David had never seen on another person now lay in a casket, buried beneath a mound of dirt and grass, another senseless victim of Dale Thompson. He was also the boyfriend of one of Dusty’s friends, a man Dusty thought of as a brother, Gabe. And right when David didn’t think the world could get any smaller, Dusty spoke of Tristan’s attraction to Gabe and how Tristan was working with him much like he was working with David, to try and help Gabe heal and move past the loss of his lover.

  David sat and cried as Dusty held him close, whispering words of comfort that fell on deaf ears. How could Dusty not hold anything Dale had done against him? Furthermore, how would any of Dusty’s friends ever be able to accept his friendship with David? His brother, his own flesh and blood, had destroyed so many lives with the bullets from his gun. “Oh my god D, how do you not hate me?” David whispered, fresh tears stinging his eyes. “How can Tristan stand to even be in the same room with me?”

  Dusty leaned back, holding David by the shoulders and looking into his eyes. “This is in no way, shape or form your fault, D. You are as much a victim of your brother as everyone else that was killed or affected by your brother’s actions that night.”

  David had just one more question. He was confident he already knew the answer, but he needed to ask nonetheless. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  He could feel the tension in Dusty’s body, the sharp intake of breath before he answered. “Yes, D, he is.”

  Confusion and anger flooded David’s body. He was in pain knowing that his brother was dead, and that confused him. With everything he’d learned in that night, how could he be sad over Dale’s death, after he’d killed or hurt so many people? It was the sadness that made him angry with himself. He had been dangerously close to being a number on Dale Thompson’s tally of bodies; he should hate his brother for what he did. Sadly, he didn’t.

  He blindly followed Dusty into the bathroom, watched as Dusty took a toothbrush and put toothpaste on it before handing it to him. David brushed his teeth, washed his face, and followed Dusty into his bedroom, climbing into the big comfy bed and curling up beside Dusty. He relished the warmth and safety he felt when he was wrapped in Dusty’s arms, craved it. While he couldn’t fathom why Dusty would still want to protect him after learning what his brother had done, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away either. There was a cavernous black hole threatening to swallow him; Dusty was the only beacon of light shining in that darkness right then. He lay there softly sniffling until his mind shut down and he fell asleep.

  ***

  David and Troy left The Monster Bar hand in hand, heading toward the main street to catch a cab. Neither of them gave the car that pulled out in front of them much thought, until the driver jumped out and started yelling at them.

  “You cock sucking piece of shit, get your hands off my brother!” Dale Thompson shouted, advancing on Troy.

  David turned and pushed Troy away. “Go! I’ll call you tomorrow.” Rounding on his irate brother, David placed both hands on his chest, shoving, to no avail. “Fuck off, Dale! You can’t tell me what to do!” He screeched when his brother bent and threw him over his shoulder.

  The car door was opened and David was shoved in none too kindly. He reached for the handle and pushed, shoving at the door and lifting one leg to climb right back out of the car when his brother’s large hand grabbed a fistful of the shirt he wore, pulling him back into the car roughly.

  “Dammit, Dale,” he shouted, turning in time to see the large fist coming at him before everything went black.

  When he came around, he could see the ground bouncing beneath him, and realized he was over Dale’s shoulder again. His head was pounding and his vision was blurry. The screen door slammed behind them and the next thing David knew, he was on his ass on the hard wood floor of their living room. Feeling moisture trickling down his face, he reached up and patted at the wetness, drawing back a bloody hand.

  “What the fuck Dale? I’m bleeding; Mom’s gonna be pissed!” He hollered, trying to stand only to be shoved forcefully back down by his brother.

  Dale knelt down in front of him and while David knew his brother had a temper—he’d been on the receiving end of it often enough—that didn’t prepare him for the sheer hate he saw in the blue eyes matching his own. He fisted the collar of David’s shirt and slammed his head into the wall behind him, causing David to see stars.

  “Mommy isn’t here to help you this time, pussy boy. She won’t be home for hours. So you can scream and cry like a little bitch all you want, no one’s protecting you this time, faggot!” Then he spit in David’s face before slamming his head against the wall once again. The pain in his head was so intense David felt nauseous and his vision was blurred. His fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and the only thing he could think to do was crawl away, so he tried.

  “Come here, you little fucker,” Dale shouted, grabbing a handful of his hair and jerking him up, his feet dangling inches above the floor. Dale’s other hand wrapped around his throat and then he was pinned against the wall. The world grew fuzzy and David could feel his lungs straining before the thought crossed his mind: Oh my god, he’s going to kill me.

  Dale punched him in the gut with his other hand before releasing him, his body falling in a heap at Dale’s feet. “Dale, please…” he managed to choke out, and received a kick to the gut. Curling in on himself, David cried out in pain when one of Dale’s large, booted feet stomped on his leg. He could see his brother, the person that should be protecting him and not beating the shit out of him, staring down at him with a menacing smile, eyes full of hate.

  “Please what, Davie? I’m going to teach you how to be a man if I have to beat it into you,” he snarled, his big foot coming down again on that same leg. David had screamed his throat so raw that when he heard his leg breaking under the weight of Dale’s foot, all he could do was cry and pray for God to just make it stop.

  “Awwww, poor baby. Does wittle Davie’s weg hurt?” Dale taunted him, grabbing him by the shirt and shaking him. David closed his eyes and prayed Dale would tire soon and leave him be. No such luck. The first thing he saw when he dared open his eyes again was his brother’s fist right before it connected with the left side of his face. The pain was excruciating and when he tried blinking his eyes open, only one cooperated and even then; it was all a blur.

  Falling in and out of consciousness, David didn’t know the extent of his injuries or how long the beating had gone on. All he knew was that everything hurt and there was no one there to stop his brother from killing him. Fighting the blackness, fearing if he closed his eyes once more they might never open again, David lay there on his living room floor watching the big, booted feet that had kicked and stomped him into a puddle disappear out the front door as everything went black again.

  ***

  David kicked and screamed, arms flailing. He had to get away before Dale killed him. The hands that gripped his shoulders frightened him, his subconscious automatically believing it to be Dale holding him down. But there was something kind and familiar about the hands at the same time, only adding to David’s confusion.

  “David, wake up. D, please, wake up, it’s me, Dusty.” David blinked back the darkness, opening his eyes enough to see a familiar, caring, friendly face hovering above him…not his brother.

  �
�Dusty?” It hurt to speak, and his vision was blurred; for a moment David freaked out and starting kicking and swinging again. Fearing his mind was playing tricks on him and it was actually Dale holding him down, intent on hurting him again. “Get off me!” He screamed as loud as his broken voice would allow.

  “David, stop. It’s me.” Dusty’s voice blanketed him in warmth, like the calm after a storm. He didn’t yell or scream, he softly whispered in David’s ear.

  His body shuddered and he fell limp, blinking and trying to focus on the body above him. “Dusty?” he whispered, trying to hold back the tears. “I don’t know what’s real anymore, D.” he sobbed.

  “Oh thank god.” Dusty groaned and before David even knew what was happening, he was in Dusty’s lap, his strong arms wrapped around him. “It was a bad dream D, just a dream.” He tried to reassure him. But David knew now, he knew it was anything but a bad dream. His own brother had tried to kill him. He couldn’t have stopped the tears if he tried, so he didn’t. “Let it all out D; let it go.” Dusty’s voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket and though his body still ached, phantom pains from his nightmare and the memory of what happened, the exhaustion and fear threatened to drown him.