Damage Control

by Lynn VanDorn

  The kiss was strange and careful and cautious until Josh thought, okay, sure, why the hell not? and licked his way into Tyler’s dangerous mouth. Then it became just carnal. His hands drifted to Tyler’s back, stealing underneath that ridiculous shirt. Tyler’s skin was like every metaphor Josh had ever heard: smooth satin, soft silk, warm velvet. He didn't want to stop touching it. Ever.

  So much trouble.

  He moaned, and Tyler growled in response. Tyler cupped Josh’s face and held it still. He kissed Josh’s closed eyes, the tip of his nose, and his chin. Then he took Josh’s lower lip between his teeth and bit it. Josh’s cock, which had been at half-mast since Tyler laid his head on his leg, now hardened to full attention.

  “You like that, don't you?” Tyler murmured. His hips rocked forward and their erections ground against each other. Josh groaned and resigned himself to coming in his jeans for the first time since leaving adolescence.

  Josh pulled the silly pink shirt off Tyler and tossed it across the room. Tyler’s chest was as gorgeous as the rest of him, with sleek muscles, a slender waist, and a narrow trail of brown hair low on his abdomen. His skin smelled wonderful. Josh bent forward and drew one small, hard nipple into his mouth while his thumb caressed the other, making Tyler shudder. “You like that, don't you?” Josh echoed. Tyler groaned, then laughed, then groaned again when Josh lightly bit the other one.

  Josh kissed down Tyler’s chest, bending him backward as he did so. When he got below Tyler's sternum and saw the marks etched there, Josh stopped and hauled him upright.

  “What?” Tyler asked, his eyes now dark and sleepy like the bottom of the sea.

  “I need to see you,” Josh said. “Now. Everything.”

  “That sounded a lot less sexy than it should have,” Tyler said. He folded his arms over his chest.

  Josh knew he had ruined the moment, but he was helpless before the need to see how extensive Tyler's scars were. Still, he tried. “I can't do this—I mean, I can, and I will—but I have to see your scars. All of them.”

  Tyler frowned. He seemed to be debating it in his head. “Why? Why now?”

  “I can't just turn off the doctor,” Josh said, trying to articulate something he didn't really have words for. “He's always there, noting suspicious moles and cystic acne and eczema and psoriasis and, well, scars. I can't make him stop just because there's the possibility of a blow job in my future.”

  “Until about a minute ago there was way more than just the possibility. Now, not so much.”

  “Please, Tyler. Let me see them. Let the doctor in my head get this out of his system. And then I promise that'll be the end of it. I won't bring it up again.”

  “You're going to owe me for this, Dr. Rosen. Big time.”

  “What do you want?” Not that it mattered. Josh wouldn't quibble. He grabbed the glasses Tyler had stolen from him and put them back on.

  “To be determined later,” Tyler said. He stood and slid the gray pants down his slim hips. He paused after he'd revealed an inch of closely trimmed pubic hair. “Are you sure you're ready for this?”

  “Tyler, I’ve seen your penis before.”

  Tyler’s jaw fell open. “You watched the video! You perv.”

  Josh shook his head. “There was that one summer when you kept running around with no pants on.”

  “That’s worse. I think I was six!”

  “And I was fifteen and completely uninterested in you or your lack of modesty. I'm sure you have a very nice penis, but right now it's not my main concern.”

  Liar.

  Tyler gave him a sharp look. “Your odds of getting a blow job are getting less likely by the second,” he said, but he pushed his pants down until they puddled at his ankles. He stepped out of them and then went around the living room, turning on every lamp. “Where do you want me?” he asked, his voice snapping with barely leashed anger. He wasn't just put out, Josh realized. He was furious. Josh was going to have to make amends for this, but it couldn't be helped. Above and beyond his natural medical curiosity, he had to know what he was getting into.

  Watching Tyler stalk about, Josh’s mind went two places at once. The doctor wanted Tyler to stand still so he could make a mental note of each white or pink line, red mark, and half-healed wound. The man just stared at Tyler as he moved, each light bringing more of his nude body into stark relief. Josh first thought of Michelangelo's David, but that wasn't right. David’s muscles were all wrong, and his expression too smug. No, Tyler was more Canova’s Perseus, the one he'd seen while visiting New York with his family when he was a teenager, only minus the stupid hat, with his sword and the severed Gorgon's head implied. Josh suspected that if it were up to Tyler, the implied severed head would be his instead of Medusa’s. Tyler, like Perseus, was exquisite: all slim, elegant lines with fine bones, and the most perfect ass Josh had ever seen, period. Tyler’s ass deserved odes written in its honor.

  “There… there’s fine,” he said, his mouth dry as he went to where Tyler posed in the middle of the room as if he were indeed a marble statue. Josh started to catalog the scars that covered Tyler’s body like graffiti, but it became evident that it would be nearly impossible to count them all. There were too many, going back too many years, and they weren't all neat and even. At first Josh stood, then he took a seat on the coffee table when his mapping brought him to the lower regions of Tyler’s body.

  He'd seen worse. He'd seen much worse. Josh had to keep telling himself that. On Tyler’s arms, most of the scars were old and pale pink or white. Hard to see unless you were looking for them. Easy to hide if he just folded his arms. The majority were in neat, small horizontal lines, and Josh’s fingers lightly traced the ones in the bend of Tyler’s right arm. Nearly all were smooth, but a few had a slight ridge to them. He looked up and Tyler’s eyes were cold and distant. Each wrist had one single horizontal slash that had been deep enough to require stitches, but otherwise he'd left his wrists alone. Tyler had been lucky not to have severed a tendon. Or maybe he had, and they'd been able to repair it. The slashes on his wrists, as old as they were, made Josh internally wince.

  Tyler’s chest was unmarked until his lower abdomen, where there were a few scars and one healing wound below his navel that looked more like a scratch than a cut. Tyler’s hips were heavily marked, though, each one crossed and recrossed so many times that picking out individual cuts was difficult. The tops of his thighs were relatively unscathed, the only scars showing being very old and faint. His legs from the upper knees down were perfect, except for what looked like an old and strangely shaped burn scar on his calf where no hair grew. There were marks on the tops of his feet as well, but like the thigh scars, they were faded and old.

  The pattern was clear. He'd been careful, so very careful, to keep his new marks where they wouldn't be easily seen. “Part your legs,” Josh said, and Tyler made a face but did as he was asked, putting one foot up on the coffee table and cupping himself, revealing scarring as crossed and recrossed as that on his hips. There were a few areas that looked like they'd had stitches at one point. “My God,” Josh muttered before he could stop himself.

  “Did you know that you're starting to get gray hairs, Dr. Rosen? Not many yet, but I can see them all in this light.”

  Josh tilted his head up to peer at Tyler, who stared down on him with impassive eyes.

  “Am I past my sell-by date?” Josh asked, keeping his tone light, because if discussing Josh’s handful of gray hairs removed that blankness from Tyler, they could talk about them all night. Hell, Josh would let Tyler name each one if it just took that look off his face.

  Josh wanted to kick something. He wanted to curse. He wanted to put bandages and antibiotic ointment on the few healing cuts. He wanted to pull out every trick in his arsenal to make the visible scars fade. He wanted to fix Tyler and he'd already been forbidden from trying. Instead Josh gave him a small smile.

  Tyler scrunched his nose, temporarily dispelling his resemblance to a marble statue. “M
aybe. Are you done looking?” he asked, his tone bored.

  Josh stood and took Tyler’s face, as cold and still as Perseus himself, and cradled it. “I'm done,” he said. “I'm sorry, but I had to see. I had to know. But I'm still sorry.”

  “I think that's enough studying for tonight,” Tyler said. “At this point I don't care if we fail tomorrow. You can call my publicist and tell him that I'm sick or dead or whatever you like.” He started to pull away from Josh.

  “No, wait. Just a second.”

  “What?” Tyler asked. “What more is there?”

  “I…” Josh said, and stopped. He wasn't sure what to say to make Tyler feel better, but there must have been something of his thoughts on his face because Tyler flinched away from him.

  “Don't you dare pity me,” he said, making a disgusted noise. “Just don't.”

  That surprised the breath out of Josh. Tyler’s body inspired many things in him, but not pity. He thought, I am struck by your body’s beauty and I am frightened by how little you seem to care for it. He didn't say that because he was afraid it would only make everything worse, but he had to say something, even if it wouldn't be the right thing, so he repeated, “I'm sorry.”

  Tyler closed his eyes. “Josh, I can't do this. Not now. Maybe later. But I'm tired and I just can't.”

  Josh turned around, bent over, and retrieved Tyler’s pajama bottoms. He handed them over. “Here,” he said. “Put these on. You'll feel better.” Then he walked over and grabbed Tyler’s t-shirt from the floor and turned it inside out so the glittery design on the front was visible: “Self-Rescuing Princess.” He presented the shirt with a flourish and a bow. “Your highness,” he said.

  “I should go to bed,” Tyler said, putting on the shirt.

  “You just woke up three hours ago,” Josh protested. He went around the room and started turning off all the lights until only the fire lit the room. “Come sit beside me,” he said. “You promised me a slumber party. There's even marshmallows we could roast once the fire dies down.”

  Tyler looked at him, his eyes tired and ancient.

  Part of Josh wanted to roll back the clock to where he was kissing Tyler and everything was still fine, but he had to know, he had to see, and he didn't regret that, even if he did regret this withdrawal.

  “Please,” he said, and Tyler allowed himself to be pulled down to the couch and tucked beside Josh, who pulled a soft throw over them both. After a while Oliver came in and joined them, settling onto Tyler’s lap. Tyler slowly petted the cat and relaxed by degrees until his head came to rest on Josh’s shoulder.

  While he sat beside Tyler, Josh worried, as was his habit. Part of him was disappointed that he was no longer being seduced, but a larger part was doing a pretty good job of convincing him that this was better. It was safer, certainly. Sex with Tyler would just cause problems he didn't need. Better to keep this casual, informal, and platonic.

  But!

  No buts. This was for the best.

  Sometime later Tyler lifted his head. “Did you say something about marshmallows?”

  Chapter 12

  Tyler Demonstrates His Talent

  Saturday, September 17th, 11:07 p.m.

  The living room of an unnecessarily large rental house

  Blue Lake, WI

  Josh got up to go to the kitchen and Oliver followed him, probably hoping for a handout. Tyler sat alone and drew the throw around himself. Josh’s absence made the left side of his body feel unnaturally cold, and he shivered.

  Tyler had become, over the years, an expert at not showing all his body. He had a whole routine down pat that involved staying mostly dressed while he got his partner naked. A lot of men dug on the contrast.

  If that failed, he would remove his shirt when the light wasn't too bright. If he could get away with it he didn’t remove his pants, allowing stiff folds of denim to frame his erection. In a pinch, boxer briefs covered the worst of his secret. The last time he'd gotten completely naked for someone who wasn't a doctor was when he was still with Ethan and they'd still been bothering to fuck. Toward the end that had been rare and the marks on his hips and thighs had multiplied. Both things had featured prominently in their breakup. Ethan needed a better top and someone who didn't practice personal scrimshaw, and really, who could blame him?

  Tyler should have never allowed Josh to remove his shirt in the first place, but he'd gotten carried away. Josh blurred all the lines and it was breaking something inside of Tyler. A lover, but not; a doctor, but not. He had asked to see, had pleaded for it, in fact. Tyler had given in, albeit with reluctance, because he needed Josh’s cooperation, and because, if he was being honest, it was Josh, his long-ago crush, who'd been doing the asking. Maybe all those old feelings weren't as well stowed away in the attic of his emotions as he'd thought. Tyler drew his right leg up, hugged his knee, and pondered the implications.

  Josh hadn't run screaming. Just that one phrase, “my God,” was the only indication that he'd felt anything other than professional detachment. It made Tyler simultaneously want to carve several new lines while wishing he didn't have a single flaw on his body. He'd wanted, under the scrutiny of Josh’s eyes, to be perfect. He'd longed for it so hard that it had hurt, the imperfections covering him aching in phantom pain. He’d yearned for the very thing he'd accused Josh of—to hide in his room and lick his wounds in peace away from Josh’s observant and clinical eyes.

  But no. Josh was persistent and dogged and wouldn't leave him alone. It shouldn't have been a surprise. For six years he hadn't left Ryan alone, either, until the Big Breakup occurred, and even then, Josh would have no doubt dropped everything and gone crawling back if Ryan had said the merest word.

  Josh returned from the kitchen, his arms full. He laid everything down by the fireplace, then came and stood by Tyler. “Come on, your highness. Your dinner awaits.” He held out a hand in a courtly gesture.

  “I already ate dinner,” Tyler said, but he put his hand in Josh’s and let himself be pulled off the couch and drawn closer to the fire, which had burned down to mostly banked coals.

  “Cereal is not dinner,” Josh said. “It's barely breakfast. You need to eat.” He placed another small log on the fire and sparks danced up the chimney. “Go get some pillows off the couch so we can sit on the floor.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Tyler made a face at Josh, but went and grabbed two pillows. He put them down on the floor, then sat on one, his legs folding themselves, after years of practice, into an effortless lotus position.

  “You're bendy,” Josh observed. He opened a package of smoked sausages and put two on the tines of a toasting fork.

  “Seven years of yoga. It was supposed to cure me. It does help my stress levels somewhat, and it has improved my flexibility. I wouldn't say it cured me, though.”

  “But you enjoy it?” Josh held the sausages over the coals and slowly rotated them. The smell was mouthwatering.

  “Yeah, I guess. I like being flexible. It's come in handy a time or two.”

  “Oh?” Josh asked, acting for all the world like he didn't give a shit when it was clear he was curious as hell.

  Tyler scooted back, then curled his body upward into a shoulder stand, then folded down into the plow position, at first keeping his legs straight, then bending them so his knees ended up next to his ears. “My ultimate goal is to be able to deep throat my own dick,” he said, his voice somewhat muffled. “I can almost do it.”

  “What? Why?”

  There was a smell of charring sausage. “Just to say I can,” he said, and rearranged himself, first back into a shoulder stand, then to lotus on the pillow. He reached over and turned the handle of the fork that rested in Josh’s slackening hands. “Like you wouldn't do it if you could. Watch out. Your sausages are burning.”

  Josh’s attention snapped back to the fire. “I think they're about done.” He grabbed a slice of bread and extracted the first sausage, then handed it to Tyler.

  He rummaged through the stuff
Josh had brought back from the kitchen looking for mustard, found it, and squirted it on his sausage. Tyler waited until Josh started to bite into his own sandwich to purr, “I just can't wait to get my mouth around your hot sausage,” and was rewarded when Josh choked.

  Tyler smiled, feeling pleased with himself, and Josh, and things in general. Amazing. He took another bite of his sandwich. Maybe he'd just been hungry.

  Afterward they fed small bites of sausage to Oliver, then ate roasted marshmallows and drank root beer and it was, perhaps, a little like a slumber party, not that Tyler had any personal experience with them. Chadwicks didn't do slumber parties. The closest he'd ever come was every summer of his childhood at this lake with his brothers and Josh. Until that also ended.

  When the fire died down to mere glowing embers, Josh closed the glass doors of the fireplace and stood, taking their dinner things back to the kitchen. Tyler glanced at the living room clock and was surprised it was almost one in the morning. Where had the time gone? He slouched down so that he lay on the floor with his head on one of the pillows. Oliver came to butt his head against Tyler’s hand, so he petted his cat. He would go to bed. Any minute now.

  He roused when he felt Josh pulling him up. “Come on, time for bed, princess.”

  “Don’t call me that. I know you think you’re funny, but you’re not.”

  Josh smiled down at him and tugged on his arm. “Come on, your majesty. It's late, and we have a big day tomorrow.”

  Tyler yawned hugely and let Josh pull him through the house, too tired to argue. There was a bed in front of him so he crawled onto it, on top of the comforter. He probably would have slept like that, but he found himself moved this way and that until he was ensconced under the covers. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been tucked into bed. It was kind of nice.

  He was drifting past the first layers of sleep when the bed dipped behind him. A warm body curled around his from behind, one arm going under his pillow and the other snaking around his waist.