Line in the Shadow

by Clancy Nacht

  Ike’s eyes were closed, his lip caught between his teeth as he groaned in apparent bliss. Then he opened his eyes and rolled his hips back. When Ike moved in again, he watched Rex carefully until he shuddered and sighed as Ike achieved the proper angle. Seeming satisfied, Ike pumped in solid strokes, hard enough that Rex struggled for balance.

  Feeling exposed, Rex used the excuse to reach for Ike’s arms, dragging them around Rex to hold him. Then Rex steadied himself with one arm against the wall and the other extended backward to curve behind Ike’s head. Meeting Ike’s thrusts, Rex twisted to steal kisses from Ike’s sweet red lips, feeling needier than he could ever remember being.

  He wanted to be consumed. Devoured. He wanted Ike to use him up and destroy him. He wanted, more than any of the rest, to take Ike so deeply inside him that it pierced the strange, hollow bubble in Rex’s chest that choked him whenever he thought too hard about his life.

  As Ike’s cock battered his insides, Rex felt a lightheaded joy settle over him. The sense of rightness grew into peace, so out of character for Rex that, at first, he couldn’t identify the feeling.

  Rex smiled into their kisses and drank in the details of Ike’s fucking, from the impossibly strong hands that held Rex upright to the way that curved dick slid first against one of his inner walls and then the other. He recorded in his trained memory the rhythm of Ike’s balls swinging forward to slap against him as Ike’s thrusts grew wilder and the soft, disbelieving sounds Ike made when Rex bore down around him and forced every millimeter of Ike’s thick shaft into his ass like Rex would die without it.

  If Rex didn’t break it down into its component aspects, he suspected he’d lose his mind from the overwhelming intimacy. Ike held nothing back, denied Rex nothing he asked for with hungry lips, grasping fingers, and undulating hips. Above all else, it was a fantasy playing out in real life: one of Rex’s beautiful musical heroes offering himself up to Rex to be used in a public men’s room, his perfect body granted for magical and improbable reasons Rex could never know, his focus bent on nothing but Rex’s pleasure.

  Rex drowned in that thought, his lungs burning, body straining as his nails dug into Ike’s scalp and his fingers fisted in his hair. Desperate words hovered at the tip of his tongue. We’ll never meet again anyway; it doesn’t matter what I say. Rex’s voice sounded feverish, faraway to his own ears. “Oh God, right there. Yes. Fuck me, goddamn you, Ike Graves. Fucking destroy me. Ruin me.”

  The more Rex let loose the words, the more intense the feeling of connection grew, and he babbled like a madman in a quiet, violent undertone, urging Ike on with utter abandon. Ike clutched Rex with crushing strength. Their bodies came together with hard, wet slaps reverberating in the metal and concrete bathroom. Ike took him so fiercely that Rex’s skin stung from the impact. And yet, the peace Rex felt expanded into a sense of being freed from his body, of existing only in the moment.

  Greater than fear, than dread, than the doom before Rex, was this connection. The power of Ike’s body, the consuming intensity of the way he fucked, the sounds he made, his hand curled around Rex’s cock, was more than Rex could stand.

  Rex gasped as Ike took full control. In any other scenario, Rex would have resented the dominance in Ike’s touches, the way he commanded Rex’s body to obey. In the moment, though, all Rex wanted was for Ike to make him come.

  “Please, please, please,” Rex chanted, the syllables distorted by the way every hard thwack of Ike’s hipbones against Rex’s ass knocked the wind from his lungs. It was just right, just so, over and over, and then Ike’s hand twisted on Rex’s cock, the callused fingertips unmistakably Ike’s. With a sharp inhalation, Rex seized and trembled, spunk spattering the wall, dripping down Ike’s fingers to make his tight strokes slicker, faster.

  Ike gave a few more hard, erratic thrusts, then followed, biting down hard on Rex’s shoulder. Another show of dominance that would leave a mark, but Rex didn’t mind. This would be great fantasy fodder for the next few months, or however long he had left to live.

  Behind him, Ike shuddered and groaned his last, and then sagged against Rex like dead weight until he caught his breath. The partition rocked as Ike leaned against the other wall and slipped from Rex’s body. Latex splashed softly into the toilet. Rex watched it swirl away after Ike pressed the lever.

  In afterglow, Rex watched Ike, dressed but for his spent cock hanging over his underpants. Rex felt vulnerable with his shirt hanging wide open, his pants around his ankles. His ass felt obscenely used, still grasping for a connection that was no longer Rex’s to have. He imagined Ike looking over, seeing the gaping wound in Rex’s psyche made manifest between his cheeks, and losing whatever measure of desire he’d felt toward Rex.

  That thought was too much. He bent stoically, silent despite the discomfort, and righted his boxers and then his trousers and belt with as much dignity as any king: Rex of the men’s room, lord of all he surveyed. Because Ike was not his, Rex didn’t look at him. He stared at his buttons, at the tails of his shirt as he tucked them in. He looked at the ceiling as he knotted his tie by touch. Then he turned his back to Ike to reclaim his coat from its spot on the door.

  Ike had apparently tucked himself away and slipped out of Rex’s path as he let himself out of the stall. Out of the corner of his eye, Rex could see Ike attempting to catch his gaze, even as he went to the sink and washed his hands.

  “So, um.” Ike bit his lip, looked at his reflection and then down at the sink. It was clear he was at a loss. The guy was so out of his element Rex almost felt shamed.

  With the dynamic suddenly turned on its ear, Rex’s usual people skills returned. In Rex’s experience, the sex was the part that ran the risk of awkwardness, not the aftermath. That Ike seemed so uncertain how to navigate their farewell charmed Rex.

  If he was honest, most things about Ike charmed him.

  Relenting, Rex joined Ike at the sink, slipped his arms around him from behind, and hugged him. He looked at Ike in the mirror over the sink, meeting his eyes in reflection. Holding his gaze, Rex tilted his lips to brush against Ike’s ear and whispered, “I’ll never forget that. Thank you.”

  Ike smiled. “I hope in a good way. You may be cursing me tomorrow at work.” He turned in Rex’s arms. “I don’t even know your name, but I think as of right now, you might be my biggest fan.”

  “That’s so flattering.” Rex chuckled, more amused than offended, and kept his arms around Ike so the man wouldn’t take it as a reproach. Then Rex released him and stepped back enough to offer a handshake instead. The quiet laughter subsided to a smirk. “I’m Rex, and it was entirely my pleasure, I’m sure.”

  “Not entirely. Mine, too.” Ike took Rex’s hand and shook it firmly. His smirk was back now, as if he’d regained solid ground. “It was nice, er, meeting you, Rex.”

  Ike went to the corner and picked up his guitar. He seemed much more relaxed holding it, like it was an extension of him. “I don’t know when I’m playing next. It’s sort of an experiment. See if the coffee house is happy with me, see if my girl is okay without me, you know.”

  Rex adjusted his coat and tie in the mirror as Ike spoke, then turned toward him and raised a brow in question, careful to stay casual. “Don’t suppose there’s a merch table or anything? I’d love to replace that CD... Or if you have any of the new songs recorded, that’d be even better. I’d hate to go several more years without hearing your music.”

  “Merch.” Ike chuckled and shook his head. “No, I don’t have anything like that. I have some mp3s of the old stuff. Haven’t had the time or equipment to record anything new. But if you give me your email, I can send you what I’ve got. Let you know if I get things recorded.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Nate’s been on me to make a MySpace or something, but that’s pretty much over, so I dunno.”

  Rex laughed. “MySpace, huh? Ask your girl her opinion on it. I bet she knows what sites are hip. Preteens are perfect cultural barometers.”

  It took Rex a fe
w moments to decide whether or not to give Ike a method of contact. It was against his training. Still, Rex wanted that music, if Ike remembered to send it.

  Reaching into a coat pocket for the small notebook and pen Rex always carried, he gave the blond a crooked smile. Rex jotted down not his work email or one of his many dummy accounts, but his personal email address. It was a sucker move, but after what they’d just done together, it couldn’t be in any worse judgment. Rex ripped out the page and offered it to Ike, though he didn’t honestly expect he’d ever hear from him again.

  Ike took it and read it, like he was verifying it could actually be an email address. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who got many fake numbers, but he didn’t act like a guy who took numbers anyway. He folded it one hand and shoved it in his pocket.

  “All right, man. I’ll get them to you. Can’t speak for the quality, but it should be almost as good as the CDs. Can’t spread them around, though. Legal shit with the label. But you don’t seem like a pirate.” Stepping closer, Ike play punched Rex’s shoulder. “Anyway, I should probably get back out there.” He looked at the door warily, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to go out.

  Rex recalled Nate dropping his arm around Ike. It had seemed more possessive than mutual, but maybe it was an unhappy relationship. There had to be a reason Ike carried lube.

  Not that this was any of Rex’s concern.

  “Have a good evening.” Rex smiled faintly. “I’ll hang out here for a few. You probably don’t want everyone to guess what we were doing.”

  On impulse, Rex leaned in to kiss Ike one last time, unable to bear a shoulder-punch being their final touch.

  Ike grabbed him again, kissing him deeply. Then he broke it off and chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my one rock star move. It’ll only enhance my reputation, I’m sure.”

  Chapter 3

  Rex hadn’t expected Ike to be all right with people seeing them together; it boosted his ego to know he was attractive enough by Ike’s standards to be open about. They exited the men’s room one after the other, still giving each other quick looks that were somewhere between sheepish and smug. Then Rex made his way to the counter to order a latte while Ike gathered his things to leave.

  He watched Ike without seeming to, knowing he couldn’t drag this out, that it was over, that there were no more goodbyes to make. But he could keep an eye on him, watch over him till he reached his car, make sure no one accosted him while his hands were full.

  As the barista served Rex his latte, she pointedly eyed Rex’s neck and flashed him a bright smile. “Don’t let him forget his tips.”

  Rex as about to say that he didn’t know Ike that well when he heard a raised voice behind him. He couldn’t make out what the words, but when he turned around, Nate was making a scene at the far corner of the stage.

  Ike held up his hands in a show of surrender. He shook his head, speaking in tones that didn’t carry.

  Nate knocked over a chair. “Fuck you, Ike. It is my business. Find your own ride home.” His dark hair flared as he whipped around, threw open the door, and stormed out.

  The young men who’d been trailing both musicians looked at each other in bewilderment. One shot Rex an admiring stare; the other looked resentful. A couple of them, including the one in red, closed in on Ike, probably to offer him a ride or comfort.

  Ike picked up his guitar case and backed away. Swinging around, Ike made for Rex, but instead of addressing him, he nodded to the barista and she handed him the tip jar.

  “Thanks.” He smiled briefly at Rex before digging in to grab the cash from the bowl and stuffing it in his pockets.

  Rex eyed the night’s take, assessed it enough for a cab, and returned Ike’s fleeting smile. It occurred to him to offer to buy Ike a drink, to ask if he’d like to get something to eat, but Rex had already caused enough drama. The last thing he needed was for people to remember he’d been here. Though it was his right to go out for a pleasant evening in his own city, it had never been Rex’s way to leave such a remarkable impression. It was distinctly uncomfortable.

  If Ike expected another reaction from Rex, he didn’t show it. He dropped ten dollars in the barista’s jar and thanked her for watching his tips.

  “Cabs come by pretty frequently…” She glanced between Ike and where Nate had departed, but Ike shook his head.

  “It’s a nice night. I’m just going to hoof it. See you soon.”

  She sighed as Ike walked out and muttered to herself, “Cute ones are always gay,” as she wiped down her counter.

  Only a couple guys from the original group remained. Rex watched as Ike held up a hand to wave them off, smiling and making polite refusals. The guy in the red shirt returned to his chair to grab an army surplus jacket. After stripping his possessions from the pockets, he all but forced the garment on the musician.

  Ike set down his guitar and put on the jacket, smiling wryly as he took the young man’s number to return it. With his goodbyes made, Ike hoisted his guitar case, slinging the strap over his back, and headed out.

  The young man came to the counter, pointedly ignoring Rex, and lifted the bartop to head into the back.

  Chuckling softly, Rex finished his coffee, tipped the sweet barista with a twenty, and gave her a rueful smile when he caught her eye. Then he turned and made for the door, walking opposite the direction Ike had gone. Unable to help himself, Rex glanced behind him at Ike’s shadowed form. Gauging that Ike would follow his current trajectory for some time, Rex slipped out of view of the coffee house, crossed the street, and backtracked.

  Well-built or not, Ike was at a disadvantage traveling with cash and an imminently pawnable guitar on his person. Rex didn’t intend to let Ike come to harm because Rex had lost Ike his ride.

  Confirming Rex’s fears, a lone figure detached from the shadows at the street corner and followed Ike through the crosswalk and down the next block.

  Rex walked faster, staying on the opposite sidewalk and trusting to Ike’s overconfidence to prevent him from spotting Rex when it turned out the suspicious party was just some wino. Rex’s paranoia sprang up at the least stimulus sometimes, and given how overstimulated Ike had left him, it was inevitable he’d ascribe some terrible intentions to the first likely subject he encountered.

  Even as Rex used the coping techniques his CIA shrink had taught him for handling his PTSD and panic attacks, he broke into a jog, covering the ground faster than most people would expect of a man his age.

  Evaluate the likelihood of a conspiracy in this specific situation. Do not immediately assume violence a probability due to unique life experiences unlikely to be repeated.

  Ike was a struggling musician providing little financial incentive to an attacker. As far as Rex could tell, he’d spent the last few years caring for his deceased sister’s child. The sister had died in a car crash. The daughter was too young to be involved in anything that could bite Ike in the ass. During Rex’s intimate examination of Ike’s person, he noted no sign of drug abuse.

  Rex watched the figure gain on Ike, but Ike wasn’t moving very swiftly. Rex’s shrink would tell him that his career superimposed dangers on situations which were, though threatening to Rex, quite commonplace.

  As Rex increased his pace from jog to run, he reassured himself it was ridiculous.

  Ike does not need my protection. Ike is ten years younger and in ten times better shape. Ike...

  Rex’s thoughts trailed off into a brief reverie as his sore ass sent a shock of pain up his spine and caused his steps to falter. He recovered his pace, but that strong reminder of Ike’s possession of Rex’s body, however brief it had been, shocked Rex with its lingering pleasure. It felt as though Ike had carved out a space inside him that only he could fill. Nothing bad could happen to Ike now; Rex needed to feel that complete again someday.

  The realization amplified his uneasiness with the way the man walking behind Ike continued to gain on him. Within moments, he’d be parallel to Ike.

&
nbsp; It’s nothing at all. This is not a subject, a target, or an asset. Those are two ordinary citizens walking down an ordinary domestic sidewalk on an ordinary night. This is not a surveillance mission. This is not a diplomatic mission. There are no couriers here, no agents, no foreign nationals.

  The man behind Ike reached down, hand sliding along his thigh beneath the light jacket he wore, and something about it triggered every alarm Rex had developed over his two decades of espionage. Silent but for the sound of his dress shoes striking the pavement, Rex sprinted across the street. Dodging between parked cars, he gained the sidewalk five yards behind the two men just in time to see a knife glint in the sickly yellow streetlamps.

  Rex shouted an incoherent warning.

  When Ike turned, it was with the weariness of someone who was aware he was being followed. His gaze fixed on the knife, causing him to swing his guitar case up. The assailant evidently startled, striking at the wrong moment. However, he was much faster than Ike. He rallied and stabbed again while Ike’s body was still at an awkward angle holding the guitar case, and Ike shouted in pain.

  Where had he been stabbed? Blood spread across Ike’s jeans. A thigh wound?

  The man readied another blow, one hand on the guitar case to shove it back, the other raising the knife. Ike’s leg buckled, and he lost control of his only defense.

  Within seconds, he’d be dead.

  With panic-fueled alacrity, Rex tackled the attacker, right hand seizing the attacker’s wrist. He wrenched it hard, pushing his momentum into it, and the knife flew free as the bones snapped. The assailant staggered along the pavement, fighting to get free of Rex, carried forward by the collision. In a cheap, desperate move, Rex swept out his leg and kicked the man’s knees out from under him.

  They crashed to the pavement a few feet beyond Ike’s huddled form. Rex wished not for the first time that he carried the proper tools to make arrests, but he was intelligence, not police. With limited options, he grabbed the man beneath him by his hair and bashed his head once against the pavement. The man grunted and went still, and Rex scrambled to his feet to check on Ike.